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1739

Some say goodnight—at night—
I say goodnight by day—
Good-bye—the Going utter me—
Goodnight, I still reply—

For parting, that is night,
And presence, simply dawn—
Itself, the purple on the height
Denominated morn.
I was at the risk of being overweight
and everyone's so normal.
They are all so skinny.
and I'm *not
I asked my 9 year old sister to write a poem.
This is what she gave me.
you were my first cigarette
so fast you burned, and sweet,
and made the spinning in my head
and sped my heart's slow beat.

when the last of you i'd breathed
and you and i were done
there were burns all over me
and an aching in my lungs.
for david. too bad, huh?
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