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Jerome Austin Johnson
Poems
Jan 2015
Wounded
Her wound bleeds fresh when she breathes too deep.
Her heart is hers to keep or let seep
Beneath the earth... Beneath the grave...
beneath the trees... there it lays!
Cool to the touch, and clutch by a corpse.
Her heart: eternally frozen in quartz.
Move on, my dear... he's dead.
#love
#death
#movingon
#stolen
Written by
Jerome Austin Johnson
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