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Jan 2021
The ale smell stained on my shirt. The bricked wall of my rented studio apartment. The state of dealing treachery. The ill-lit midnight lobby. The sun crayoning orange shadows over the ghastly, grotty bathroom. All for the mite chance of my words prancing on the article.
this is a two-part poem
faust
Written by
faust  16/M/USA
(16/M/USA)   
358
     Olivia, ---, Eshwara Prasad, --- and ---
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