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Aug 28
Would my grave be
deeper than my wounds?

Would the warmth of the morning sun
still reach my cold forgotten body?

Would Icarus, my bird, fly to the sun looking for me,
is my selfish death going to cost him his wings, too?

Would the worms weep when
they ******* tormented flesh?

Would the lines I wrote no longer
be read as poems but suicide notes?
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