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May 2016
I've become a stranger to letting my wrists do the talking.
Words like drool from the corner of my lips,
and feelings of insignificance since I've been gone.

Though I feel more refined, there are wounds that are bleeding out,
and I'm still tending to the ruptures, while pinching off your thought.

The calming touch, withered and pale if I tried to describe it.
Cold, uninspired, as we run from it.
Jake
Written by
Jake  Colorado
(Colorado)   
243
 
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