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Aug 2015
My words are tainted with the bitter taste of whiskey. My hands tremble in the presence of lies and abuse. I no longer sleep and I no longer eat. I am rested in death and filled with bad thoughts and inner demons. I can only suppress them with more alcohol and the slow burning cancer stick. I no longer am a poet but a drunken teen with no future.
Matthew Mckenzie Goldsmith
Written by
Matthew Mckenzie Goldsmith  Washington
(Washington)   
355
   stas
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