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Mar 2014
I can taste the wood and paint
of the pencil i've been biting
I let it roll from my teeth down my shirt.
And I can't focus on the Words in my head because
the Song is playing but I can't focus on the Song because
the Rain is hitting
the roof. And my window.

Everything fades to a Place where
all outlines are blurred.
No harsh edges
Only the ideas of words
Written by
   Rose and Emerald Proctor
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