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Jan 2014
I miss cigarette talks where I broke
myself down for you, bleeding
from my soul instead of my veins.
I miss when my cigarette burned
out faster than the girl holding it.

I miss breathing you in with smoke,
choking on laughter, not panic.
Mumbled disconnections
over your car stereo mean more
than my empty conversations with God.
Written by
Aubree Champagne
718
 
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