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Sara
Poems
Dec 2012
back to rust
Pink eyed words whisper slow.
Lazy layers of smoke curl around her expositions--
marbled collarbones protruding from the recluse
of a crippled child called
Hot ash sprinkled across her duvet,
she feels too heavy
under the dark velvet of the night sky.
Fingertips trace stories across wrists,
catching the rivets of her imperfections with
bitten down nails.
Written by
Sara
New York City
(New York City)
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Kiersten
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