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Sarina
Poems
Dec 2012
the ghost that hangs from eyelids
there, the long eyelashes
dead in my hands,
oh god, they are dead in my hands
cannot even flutter anymore
but they are wet and they reek
of the bottle caps placed
between my bed and bed sheets
there, the long eyelashes
are weeping
only alive when I am happy
you left, something fled from me
Written by
Sarina
forests
(forests)
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509
Michael Valentine
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