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Apr 2018
Your sunshine promises are stale,
I’m not your dream.
I am still a cold brittle flake,
But you’re not so innocent anymore.
You are not a sun,
you are a candle,
Your wax has dissolved.
You gave me light when I needed it,
But my hands are mine again.
Anne
Written by
Anne  21/F/Canada
(21/F/Canada)   
183
 
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