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Dec 2018
Manufactured moans
My stomach turns to stones
I cannot feel, how I used to is a flare
Each second after I am left
Left to something odd; my mind
My mind can’t place or displace
Everything evaporates
Not much is left to salvage
The rubble vibrates
Turning into winged creatures
They escape through my mouth
It’s over
Feeling
Fleeing
Brynn S
Written by
Brynn S  17/F/Searching
(17/F/Searching)   
325
 
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