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Jun 2011
d__’s fingers move slowly down my spine
tracing over each vertebrae with malicious intent,
his bluish lips curling into an empty smile.
He smells of hurricanes
and something putrid I can’t describe.

A vicious cycle is tough to break, he whispers,
in a voice that scrapes behind my eyes.
The stars aren’t out tonight, and I am afraid.
Written by
Apple
491
   Meagan Moore
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