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Nov 2013
Watching myself,
I laugh, but feel nothing.
I smile, but it doesn't meet my eyes.
I cry, and everything comes out.

Watching you,
You laugh at my pain.
You smile at my suffering.
You cry at my death.

Watching everyone,
Laugh at the girl who died.
Smile at her pictures.
Cry at her stone.
I'm really not a fan of this poem. I'm kind of just putting rough drafts up here for a bit.
Kendra Hall
Written by
Kendra Hall  Places
(Places)   
422
   Timothy
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