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The door, the same old door open and unlocked, you sit on the couch, the one you slept on for six years. In the flames tonight, the smell of burning will be back but this time, it is welcome. The cabinets, the dishes, they are all broken and I am standing on shards of porcelain piercing my feet, in fear of more pain, we stay where we are you, on the couch and me, on the plates. welcome home.
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Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
Home: A Poem
The door, the same old door open and unlocked, you sit on the couch, the one you slept on for six years. In the flames tonight, the smell of burning will be back but this time, it is welcome. The cabinets, the dishes, they are all broken and I am standing on shards of porcelain piercing my feet, in fear of more pain, we stay where we are you, on the couch and me, on the plates. welcome home.
casey-mars
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Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
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