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Feb 2015
Holding long to longing,
longing, holed to holding,

I ode my tale for bold forboding.

Swiftly shores sung,
ripping, reaping, revealing

I stopped just short of saint-like stealing.

Madly minutes mumbled,
syllables stuck, syrup

My thoughts no longer mine to stir up.
Sour Patched Kid
Written by
Sour Patched Kid
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