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Aug 2018
The boy at the piano calls,
the kind of bright in the eyes
that gives youth a stall.

Blushed cheek,
and lips that bleed.
You couldn’t speak...

So wrapped in ivy,
you crawled your way
past mountains of shame,
just to speak my name.

You placed a spell,
tore past my tell.
You struck me down!

Then left me laying
on the floor,
of the bathroom stall.

Can we make pretend,
like i’m still seventeen!
I don’t know what I think that means,
but i think my soul agrees.

My dazzling war,
played behind closed doors.
It showed me cruel from kind,
but I can’t make up my mind.

Which do I like best?
I’m in a right old mess
Written by
       ---, Sparkle in Wisdom, gemma, Nyx and JL Smith
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