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Feb 2019
Is this a slow death?
Every breath,
Is anger and pain,
And acting insane.
Patience lost,
Arms crossed,
Stick in the mud,
Boiling blood,
Ignored cries,
Dizzy eyes,
Spinning thoughts,
Stomach in knots.
Hear me call,
Or let me fall.
Secrets to keep.
Bury them deep.
Aly
Written by
Aly  F/New York
(F/New York)   
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