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Jul 2022
snapped out of existence
in a rustic flannel
lying at the bottom of a pit
far into the mushy ground
the core of the earth
pinned against my ribs
lips as cold as the Antarctic
stomach as empty as words
left to rot
as rain descends
on my emaciated corpse
your ghost is probably more beautiful than the real and authentic version of yourself. shame.

7/6/22
newborn
Written by
newborn  18/F/wherever you are
(18/F/wherever you are)   
25
 
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