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Jun 2013
Headlights hang.
trapped in eyelashes
aspirations wandered above
struck down into
the musty grass of a church lot
there was no mercy to be had
I swore it heaved
the floorboards bled purple,
Clocks tore themselves apart
while the frothy whispers of flowers
haunted the humidity.
to get lost here
among the carnation sky
would almost be better.
My Name Here
Written by
My Name Here
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   victoria, Cunning Linguist and ---
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