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Writers of the World Unite

My Fragments are shards. Not for the diplomats, they are for those who risk walking on broken glass or try to jump over the jagged edges of citra bottles Lining crumbling, mossy near-death walls. my jagged edges, have bled, have brawled with those who say... "Why bother, just write. follow us, follow the money, be politely trite, titiliatingly quiet, follow us... we know it all..."

Walk with us, down the alley of mediocre mansions, see us rise, as writers fall..." "You aren't the David, to bring down us Goliaths, after all..." Sure Sahib, I say, Is that all? My pen will birth ideas... Ideas that'll call out And embrace hearts beyond barriers, beyond walls... Birthing, not just one, but million of Davids... To usher in this thing's downfall...! From me, Sahib, That'll be all....

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