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Jul 2018
You crumbled like a corpse underneath the facade of fresh rose petals,
Lavender pressed finger prints,
Like warm blood on cool cracked lips,
You are not in love,
But you are on it,
Like a drug that must be snorted,
Too sour to be swallowed,
And too hot to be inhaled,
Too good to be real,
And too much like a dream to be held.
Written by
Belle Spiese
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