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untitled
Poems
Apr 2014
lost
it is late
i spill boiling water on these soft hands
because i need to feel something
hardly on purpose
but i want to write courageous words
bigger than myself
only to tear them apart
and scatter the pieces
in a nearby storm drain
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untitled
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,
Wíštfûł Wáñdêręr
,
Liv
,
Louis Brown
and
Turquoise Mist
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