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Jun 2014
As I sit here, on the desolate hillside, I gaze. The smoke beyond the perks of the limitless sky is a blanket, an invisible presence marked upon our lungs. Yet the fresh, indecent, oblivious morning air echoes our infinite liveliness. Death will slowly **** us, he will poison our flesh. And only the sweet, soft bones will live on.
Yasmin Arnavout
Written by
Yasmin Arnavout  London
(London)   
564
 
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