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Nov 2016
blood on my fingertips.
caught the brunt
and couldn't hack it.
blood on your lips.
you whisper in my ear
and it drips,
drips.

fire on the mountain.
from the valley below
i was counting.
alarms were sounding.
but i stayed
and in the smoke i was lounging,
counting.
John
Written by
John  28/M/New York
(28/M/New York)   
281
   --- and Weeping willow
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