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Dec 2018
I taste rusting windows and warm tequila
I smell permanent markers and rotting tomatoes
I see distorted faces and doctors turned dealers
I hear broken CDs and internal tornados

I am the bones in the reapers dead hands
I am the creature clawing at your back
I am the carnage you cause for a couple grams
I am the voice that haunts the insomniac


I am a black hole
depression
Red
Written by
Red  Non-binary/australia
(Non-binary/australia)   
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