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Jul 30
I can still taste the cigarette,
The flavour grafted to your skin.

You held my face,
Yellowed finger tips.

Beauty indescribable,
Ash stains down your shirt.

Every word you whispered,
All smoke and hurt.
A poem from a fractured mind.
Tre Waters
Written by
Tre Waters  26/M/Australia
(26/M/Australia)   
  136
   Mister Truth
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