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Sep 2017
I miss the sound of crunching leaves, victim to our druken teen feet.
My soul aches for the way you used to look at me.
I miss the way you'd line up with the trees, smile at me and breathe in disease.
Almost as beautiful as the smoke in your lungs. I miss a lot of things, but I'll never miss what we've become.
Written by
Nyk  FTM/Toledo
(FTM/Toledo)   
215
   Dazed Dreaming
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