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May 2016
Fingers crossed turned to fingers being pointed.
Pointed, like a piping hot barrel of a shotgun, with another bullet itching to inch closer  
The world had turned.
My world has turned.
Thrown aside for being bruised and damaged
The apple of my eye is now rotting away
Philip J Fry
Written by
Philip J Fry  Brooklyn
(Brooklyn)   
439
   LJW
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