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Briefly forgetting the color of fireworks, thunderous applause; my ears ringing. Tell me what I'm doing here, why I'm searching a crowd of faceless strangers. Don't tangle the stars that map my way home, Don't ask me if the flame is responsible for the moth.
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Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
They Say You Write Poetry
Briefly forgetting the color of fireworks, thunderous applause; my ears ringing. Tell me what I'm doing here, why I'm searching a crowd of faceless strangers. Don't tangle the stars that map my way home, Don't ask me if the flame is responsible for the moth.
Pogykt
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Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
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