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Apr 2019
To run through the grasses, grasses of tall blades of purple and emerald.
Splendid views from the final steps.

With weeks passing, each step guiding me to the final destination, time blurred.
So much monotony bring the worst out
in weak-willed men.
A hike of millions of inches.

A backpack full, practically dragging my shoulders to the ground,
Always eliciting shouts of impending scoliosis.
Yet after three days, the bag blended in with the air.
Idk I’m just cleaning out my poetry document and I don’t want to lose this fragment as like a work in progress but I’m too lazy to finish it ****
Written by
Ray Dunn  20/F/New York
(20/F/New York)   
118
 
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