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Stained Glass
Poems
Feb 2020
Too often...numb.
She felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sicknees, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.
Written by
Stained Glass
17/F
(17/F)
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