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Feb 2016
Reality feels surreal on dry eyes.
Like a bed of withered flowers growing in my brain.
I'm ******* on melancholy memories.
Got a death wish but death wished to **** me slowly.
Times the real reaper.
Scythes made of minutes & hours.
But I wane the hands on the clock like  frozen time frames.
Jo Baez
Written by
Jo Baez  Los Angeles, Ca.
(Los Angeles, Ca.)   
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