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Apr 2019
My wound is fresh
My words weak
But light my pipe
And words begin to steep

It’s a slow burn
Betwicks the tobacco and me
the nightshade can’t last
My thoughts they burn

The smoke is a manafestation
It’s shows how things burn inside
So much for the fascination
Of a future I prized as mine...
Andrew Harris
Written by
Andrew Harris  28/M/Iowa
   NM and Mahnoor Shah Jhan
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