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Ann Beaver
Poems
Oct 2013
Twenty Eight
I want to scrub
Every last one of his dead taste buds
From my mouth
A toothbrush slowly sharpening
Saw blade
Spit out the blood,
Mud, and toothpaste
I want to find
Every way there
Is to destroy myself
To live without ever breathing
Or seeing
Or being seen
I want you to know
My worst fear came true
I never was capable of loving you.
Written by
Ann Beaver
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