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Mar 2018
I painted the pollution in the sky with my own blood
I was proud
So I sat below it, as it dripped back down
Puddle by puddle
I can see what it was that pain passed on
The pollution of my own wreckage
Thick, it choked my breath
I stress over my own twisted toxins
Carrying the weight of me
On my back

Back home.
Pollution of my thoughts. I'm my own interference.
saranade
Written by
saranade  40/Androgynous/Phoenix, Arizona
(40/Androgynous/Phoenix, Arizona)   
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