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Nov 2018
All of my words are foggy and I can't seem to find the right combination, to build the truth I keep digging for. Only broken bridges come out of this mouth. They lead you over waterfalls and into dense forests, filled with trees my past has grown for me. Trees that have rooted themselves deep inside of me. Ive become so enmeshed, I cant tell where the roots end and my limbs begin.
Written by
BlueBird  29/Saskatchewan
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