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Dec 2014
a desert without sand
how lonely they must be

twisted burning crust of
the thing they used to be

seething tongues of blood
squeaks that cut like briars

tortured by themselves
our gnashing little liars

it's only love they need
a bucket want of fill

caress them with a rusty blade
head thumping down the hill
Porter
Written by
Porter  Tennessee
(Tennessee)   
401
   Devon Webb
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