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T R S
Poems
Nov 2019
Living under a rock.
Stuffing brittle remnants of dead little bits,
crammed in a stovepipe shaft
had lighted and lit up a huge fireball
over all of my peers and enemies.
It wasn't hard to see at all,
unless you liked living under a rock like me.
It was the sort of thing you regret never having saw,
and the sort of thing, if you were you
you would never see.
Written by
T R S
29/M
(29/M)
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S-zaynab-kamoonpury
,
---
and
Anthony Pierre
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