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Seppuku Disgrace dances in my life with a black veil and smiles at me pointing to a crimson Roman bath-or- a Japanese short sword. Existence is fleet, and quicker when aided- slowly redeeming myself through disciplined pain. Honor is given when the oblivion hits and kisses my lips, softly. But I slowly touch my face; I am not dancing with my eyes turned East. I am not dancing with my bowels on my knees. Smiling subtly, I remind myself: Life is tasty- all things fade, ever honor. Slowly and carefully-it fades.
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