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K
Poems
Dec 2014
funerals
time tastes a lot like rotting flowers
when your skin is made of clouded glass.
breathing feels much like falling
when you've tasted the outer limits of hell.
laughter mimics broken bells when you've watched thousands of suns sink behind ever-growing mountains.
burial plans begin just when you've begun to stand.
humanity grows cancerous flowers in dying bones
from the moment the human is born.
Written by
K
Portland
(Portland)
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Julia Plante
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SPT
and
Ariel Baptista
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