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Apr 2020
skipping rocks across still ponds,
the gods are comedians.

entropic,
my coffee is still hot.

middle fingers to a walk of shame.

you all get lost like bats in a thick fog.
so let me scratch my scrimshaw
in peace, please.

i write for the ghosts of my past lives.
that's why i leave ink anywhere but on the page.
B E Cults
Written by
B E Cults  30/M/hendersonville tn
(30/M/hendersonville tn)   
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