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Pre-pubescent

I died when I was nine, pickled in cancer I floated. You kept me on the shelf, next to the salt and pepper, curdled in my own tears. My pores weep strange poisons; flies eat away my face because you never buried me. Ive been watching you. I will boil roots inside of you and become a child again.
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Written by
anonymous-6
Published
Nov 6, 2011
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11·59
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