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3/3/1995

by wordsalwayshurt

I'm being stung by bees in the snow. my pants fill with air my pocket takes warmth from fingertip four numb very touching and very moving sentiment from twenty years of last century taking warm rocks from the unsettling effigy ingesting them it is too painful she tells me a ram's horn being stung by bees in the winter chewing on dolphin meat in the summer the beach is glass the salt boils my soles bubble yellow cloud pushes me up I glide on the hooves in my new pelt
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Written by
wordsalwayshurt
Published
May 23, 2020
Time
2m
Notes

tragedy

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#tragedy
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