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May 2014
After we hung up the phone
and after I heard
the ghost in your voice
singing
(its song of wasted abandon
of histories
of your medicinal haze)

I saw a pile of
lavender
I had yanked up from
the man-made soil
in my landscaped yard-
another man-made object

Vicodin or Lavender

I want to feed them to the sea
(it's a song of reckless abandon
of hope
and of better days ahead)

But you always find another
orange bottle to ease your pain
And I always find another
field of man-made flowers
to take my mind off of
letting you go this way.
Written by
Sarah  F/Oregon
(F/Oregon)   
1.2k
 
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