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Nov 2013
when i was little,
people used to talk about,
how my hands,
were exactly like yours.

every curve,
every swirl,
even the shape.

my hands were yours,
but mine.

mine are swollen,
from punching the wall.

and yours are cold,
white and frail.

mine are red with life,
and yours are white with death.

Sonja Milekovic
Written by
Sonja Milekovic
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