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Melissa
Poems
Dec 2012
Raw
Her lips were raw from the cold air biting them,
snow surrounding her.
A lone hitchhiker.
Miles from anywhere that could be called home.
She is alone.
Her skin crawled. From the touch of the others, rides offered and unpleasant favors returned
Young, thin. Wasting.
Home might be nice now.
On the run from nothing, she couldn't hide from herself
Written by
Melissa
32/F
(32/F)
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