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Monique Matheson
Poems
Jul 2015
Hurl
Demented, bent, thoughts that don’t make sense
The firm grip that was on my
Bleeding walls
Sick from the memories of *****
Cigarette stench blasting in my room
Distorted languages of I love you
Static forming with an elegant bow
Adieu.
Written by
Monique Matheson
30/F/Arizona
(30/F/Arizona)
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