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Aug 2014
Brain is dead
heart is bled
heavy chest
interrupted breaths
grave moments
crashing sobs
temples throb
****** torture
wax-paper wipes
comfortless needs
paintbrush umbrella
wrestling pillows
writhing limbs
screams inside
loud as red
hands tick and tremor
long and never
pitiful depths
of mire
morose prose
lingers instead.
MutteredtheMuse
Written by
MutteredtheMuse
888
   Goingawayayayay
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