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T R S
Poems
Apr 2020
Show stopping
Gasses last about as long as a mass of memories.
Moving about in space,
laced with acid
and
storied massive centuries.
Gloss is fragments classed into fragments massed about in sand.
Blandness stands still, blonde and on call.
Knots hold golden ships,
Slipknots hold not at all.
Stalling makes glass great in smaller pieces.
By breaking leashes, you must need harsher bits in your eye.
Stay still.
Don't try.
Lying will wear you out too.
Just don't breath.
Blue is in season, and it looks real good on you.
Written by
T R S
29/M
(29/M)
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