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Apr 20
If I rhyme,
Maybe you would find my words beautiful,
Finding something profoundly disturbing more chewable,
Washed down with wine and cuticle,
Your fingernails scraping down my throat
Don't.
I don't.
I don't need that ****.
Maybe you would find my words beautiful.
But **** and disjunct, sitting, freely thinking
I feel as though my train of thought has retrained it's tracks
Let's go to a place I don't want to go to.
Written by
Albert Oscar Rhodes
57
   Fawn
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