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  Jun 2018 aaaaaaa
Afia
Give me a cello
I shall play you a melody
And my fingers will compose stories
Over the rustic strings

Give me a knife
I shall peel my skin
And show you the wound
That was born with your words

Give me a needle
I shall make you a quilt
And stich a pattern of wasted time
And infinite bundle of warmth

Give me a shovel
I shall dig my grave
And bury my soul
So you would not have to
Carry my sorrows anymore
I hold nothing sacred now.

— The End —