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Jan 2015
These scars are brush strokes of another girls despair.
She spent Summer nights drawing lines between myself and her,
The warmth on her back the only memory left in a cardboard box of misery;
It reminded her she was alive,
A reminder she longed to delete in a shrinking phonebook that breathed out numbers to balance her life.
Lost and found in a pound of broken daydreams.
Each time I catch someones stare I remember her fractured smile,
The only tie I have left that I cannot cut.
OliviaAutumn
Written by
OliviaAutumn
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