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Andrew
Poems
Nov 2018
Untitled
My skin is hard and weathered
As is the asphalt that lays bare
And bleached by the sun's rays.
Your words are the childish chalk
Scribbled across and littering the road
Right in front of our home
And your treason is the hushed rumble
Of chilled autumn rain washing your despairing apologies
Down the gutter at the end of the street
Written by
Andrew
35/M/North Carolina
(35/M/North Carolina)
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Fawn
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