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Mar 2013
I rip the stitches from my ribs
Like a sign of the unclean
and tie the threads behind the ears
of all the people I have seen
your voice still sounds like frost
that coats my faded jeansΒ Β 
and footsteps spit out fire
while we sizzle and we sting.
Anna
Written by
Anna
830
   rained-on parade
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