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Jul 2013
I'll spray the paint inside my mouth
and tag myself with my secret gang.

That song we sang and the words we wrote
are lodged in my throat.

And I hope it's not too late to rearrange
this melody so that I can change.

I'm hopelessly, incredibly,
stuck here with nowhere else to be.

You shook me up. You ran me out.
Hope your stupid plans pan out.
Ruth Forberg
Written by
Ruth Forberg  Chicago
(Chicago)   
1.0k
   Lawless
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