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Dec 2018
The brisk air nips at my face
But your warm rage heats my bones
Clouds of words escape your mouth
These clouds thunder and rain
Your touches earthquakes
You are a natural disaster
And I am the land you tread on
Paper can split a tree with your winds propelling it
Your words cut me in the same way
I become brittle but grow again
My growth only met by your destruction
Amber
Written by
Amber  18/F
(18/F)   
58
 
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