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Dulce Ivonne
Poems
Jun 2015
Yesterday
Yesterday was a horrible play on the past.
If it was a joke--
it was not funny.
Nothing specific,
just awful vagueness.
The ominous winds of nothingness
chilling the warm day.
But yesterday was killed,
murdered by today.
Now I just have to walk on egg shells:
around the ****** scene tape.
And let time be its own prosecution.
#life
#time
#thoughts
Written by
Dulce Ivonne
Mexico City
(Mexico City)
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