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Feb 2017
it’ll be cold later, you say;
dark clouds serve as premonition for the February I deserve,
summer in the first quarter  
sometimes I want to drink so much
i forget my own name
or forget yours;

instead

i laid flat on the pavement tonight,
letting the stones sink into the flat of my skull
wishing the sting of them
could make me forget
all
Written by
Anna Skinner
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