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Feb 2013
I could die
of smoke inhalation
in a trailer park in Southern Alabama,
my hair streaked with lemon juice
and you wouldn't miss a breath.

My vocal chords throb from chanting
your name to St. Anthony.

I am a 17th century puritan,
nothing without you.

My man.
My grudge.
My emptiness.
Jenna Richardson
Written by
Jenna Richardson  Cleveland, Oh
(Cleveland, Oh)   
994
   Arthur Blair and ---
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