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Black squares pulled at the soles of my shoes. Brick-red fake bricks wrapped serpentine around cement beams glazed and shimmering with epoxy and daylight s
hone white on the left half a bedraggled face. The other half smirked, sitting cross-legged under a wall-less window eating carrot sticks with chopsticks.
 The dust in my eyes, in the blank between us pervaded pore and nostril, bourgeoning the ache of a flaying respite, with the fire of a thousand minute needles and the diaphragm-tugging grip of "come closer."
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Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
Sunday Morning Revisited
Black squares pulled at the soles of my shoes. Brick-red fake bricks wrapped serpentine around cement beams glazed and shimmering with epoxy and daylight s
hone white on the left half a bedraggled face. The other half smirked, sitting cross-legged under a wall-less window eating carrot sticks with chopsticks.
 The dust in my eyes, in the blank between us pervaded pore and nostril, bourgeoning the ache of a flaying respite, with the fire of a thousand minute needles and the diaphragm-tugging grip of "come closer."
brenden-pockett
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Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC
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