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B E Cults
Poems
Aug 2021
brutalist 18
and he will bear it
like a curse,
like an orchard on fire
in the face of a harsh winter,
like dinner with her parents;
I'm withering on the vine.
I'm withering away,
it's fine.
it's apparent to nobody
but me.
the wine was nice though.
Written by
B E Cults
30/M/hendersonville tn
(30/M/hendersonville tn)
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