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Oct 2013
The words that shape liquid flood from ducts
Yet this lonely just shouts and conducts
That aggressive fear of self imploding hate
Maybe these forming shapes are my fate

My truth of hate and self inflicting harm
Are just scaring my hidden charm
No amount of hours reflecting shall wash them tears
Why do i no longer understand my fears    

I beg for it to end and disappear of good
So why is it death is my only likelihood
That taste of my crimson filling my guilt
I wait for someone to have my heart rebuilt
James Ephraim stubbs
700
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