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RMatheson
Poems
Aug 2014
Exit Bag
There's nothing left
of all that could've been
except my empty shudder
inside this chest,
begging to rot
from the outside in
where lust equals death
where death equals trust
where nothing,
(nothing at all)
keeps me alive
for the nothing that's left.
Written by
RMatheson
M/Beating tired bones
(M/Beating tired bones)
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