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Sep 2012
Anger swelled up
Like a huge bruise
All black and blue.
Fear ran the length of my arms
Pulsing, pulsing.
Swimming in desperate despair
Or more like drowning.

Rain falling,
Cool clear blue
Droplets dropping in the midday sun
Hot with an air of cool in it.
Nighttime fell on our small home
In Winchester.
Rain splattered the windows
Like Jackson *******.

Sleep was unobtainable
The couch uncomfortable
Another year in this place could **** me.
With the syringes and scapegoats
The dry spells and witchcraft.
Someone here wants me dead.
Another year in this place will **** me.

Your best friend moved to town last week
We met at the local bar
And drank a few shots
And rummaged through your stuff
Laughing and laughing
Until you got home

Another year and I’ll be dead.
What’s this place you call home.
Written by
Connor Thomas
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