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Typewriter

My body is a typewriter.

There are starving scrolls hidden in my hollow bones

and sable blood that paints my rib cage broken sentences

and my heart punches them into stories

and poems everytime I see you.

They drip down to my fingertips and

escape everytime I touch you.

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Written by
nissa-arsenic
American
Published
Feb 16, 2013
Lines·Words
7·49
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