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Oct 2019
I bathed.
They told me I’d be safe here,
But the shallow waters felt like haunted depths
So I drowned still.
It clambered out from beneath the plug hole
And had my mother’s eyes.
Full of salt it stood there,
Deep and forlorn.
Seaweed for hair and no mouth at all
It reached towards me,
With the pallid face of a falling angel.
And I was no more.
Written by
Jeanne Équiza  17/F/London
(17/F/London)   
176
   traces of being and Fawn
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