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Jan 2013
Your words are
pins; slowly puncturing my growing,
open heart.

Your smile
is a mask, hiding the forked instrument that sounds like
breaking glass.

Your blood was
the wine that I couldn't help but drink every night slowly growing
dependent.

Your thoughts were
carbon monoxide to my mind, which forced me to
sleep away...
P Chartier
Written by
P Chartier  New York
(New York)   
535
   Chuck and Timothy Brown
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