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waxen citrine sunlight turns our eyes to tinted crystal from the side, they look evil- not like i'll destroy half the universe and call it mercy evil, more like i'll slice you down to marrow with a smile we sit on bottle green park benches three girls, with nihilism seared into our cerebrum (someday, our generation will get a better name) laughing into the golden hour around the peridot-hued grass is cold under bare feet, so unlike the tar lines in the road we sing hallelujah as we walk home harmony melting into the pavement and into our hearts