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Aug 2018
Anxiety,

you play your gentle fingers down my spine
as smoothly as whiskey warms my veins

it fills my veins abruptly like dandelions popping out of fresh spring grass
A sprout of color, unwanted

It tangles my thoughts into roots dig them self deeper into me
and I cant tell if they are weeds or they are apart of me.

Do these **** grow from your words?
Or do they grow from my thoughts.
Written by
Kristine  26/F/Michigan
(26/F/Michigan)   
908
 
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