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Sep 2010
Petite and frail,
clearly the maverick.

death filled the bar
and it's sweet breath
attached to my throat.
it permeated through my hair
and then I could taste
the stickiness
of decades.

rushing to the double doors.
crawling,
I was suffocating,
and the fog
it soothed me.
Copyright Sept 15, 2010 by Renee S. Loren
Written by
Renee S L
847
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