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Apr 2013
Every day I'm born anew
and still I choose to spend it in you.

Each night I die, a slow, laborious death with nothing to hope for when there's no hope in your breath.

Each morning I rise with ambitions for the day, but your lips were far better than this coffee cup's clay,

and so I live to die again in the blue remembrance of this pen.
Harlow
Written by
Harlow
550
   Daniel K and Elizabeth Paxton
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