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Jan 2012
I allow my face to become a jungle.
No longer barren—
or devoid of fuzzy foliage.
The manmade steel that shredded  
and sliced the whisker trees
lays abandoned, somewhere
in a porcelain graveyard
rusting and eroding into ash--
slowly becoming one with nature
again.
Brycical
Written by
Brycical
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   JA Doetsch, ---, Don Bouchard, serah and ---
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