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Jul 2018
No willl.  
No precognition for a better life.
Hope is a gaping hole, just  look into my eyes. Don’t stare.
You may become immersed in the abysmal
Well of ****, it’s my place not yours.
Those are my nails stuck in the wall. That retch is my being, slowly decomposing.  My apologies for the stench.
April
Written by
April  F
(F)   
171
     Colm, Ana Habib, ---, PoetryJournal and ---
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