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My beer.
My Beer.
The sky is nicotine yellow today,
like the teeth and fingers of a festering 70 year old.
The birds are emitting monotonous sounds,
similar to a modem or a fax machine.
The cars moving in a fashion akin to blood vessels In heavily constricted veins,
not going anywhere.
My beer is slowly getting warmer,
They say the same thing about the planet.
Hopefully someone will finish the drink soon.
I hate it, constructive criticism is welcome.
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