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Post
INK_John
intjohn.bsky.social
did:plc:imp5vzp2dj4p232wcsdvabnb
Fruit that burned the tongue with dawn.
Chains were forged, yet thought was born.
Prometheus whispered through flame.
Bitter gift, but sweeter sight.
Exile crowned with knowing hands.
#7SyllableSentence
2025-08-26T19:30:07.327Z