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May 2013
Something presses on my throat.

I think it's my past.

I can't turn round the corner of memory lane

Without seeing

Your face at every window.

My mind feels haunted.

My skin brittle as glass

Too much heat

From embarrassment

Or touch

And I will combust.
Rosaline Moray
Written by
Rosaline Moray
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   sassybutsweet
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