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Mar 14
The outbreath was filled with
All of the whirling worries
Of rushing highways, and
Misinterpreted words, and feet
That slipped on shiny wood.

I stared at the swaying trees,
The air cold in my throat,
And felt the metal against my
Skin, my hand over the heart
God chose to keep beating.
Written by
Sia Harms
51
     rick, --- and Sia Harms
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