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Aug 2012
Somewhere I'm being reborn,
without my hands repeating rituals.
Forget my earlier days,
I only learned how to cry.
I'm not returning, for its forbidden.
Take what you've sold,
for what I carry is no longer for profit.
What I leave behind,
won't sink, won't ship.
Find itself in its usual hiding place,
beneath the filth,
waiting for my return.
erin anderson
Written by
erin anderson  Canada
(Canada)   
705
   st64
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