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by
Eliot
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what a waste
Poems
Aug 2016
Invasion of The Wave
Hostile fingers molded like pocket rockets
hang in a slow motion picture frame with
my God-Given etched into the name plate
I try to remain faceless, so I rip at my skin
praying if I pretend it was painless they'll
fade away into the wind aimlessly
Don't wave at me I have no name
My God-Given was previously reclaimed
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