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Oliver Duskrine
Poems
Jul 2013
A cliché hurt
This strangled cry from bloodied lips
A cry caught in your fingertips
Sliced through my wrist and to the bone
Were it not for him you would be my own
Like a fire I was lit
****** like a bird to eternally flit
In a cage too small for my
Bloodied lips and strangled cry
Written by
Oliver Duskrine
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Carlena Irene Sancho
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