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Oct 10
i once told him
that i write
poetry

and he looked
straight at my wrists
and whispered
oh ***,
i'm so sorry.

he asked me
a while later
what was wrong with my mind.
what do you mean?
i asked.
every poet has
something
wrong with their minds,
he replied.

i looked at him.

what is it then?
he asked.

and with this
bleeding
sick smile
i whispered
everything
TheMadEternitarian
Written by
TheMadEternitarian  F
(F)   
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