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beneath the tin roof, beside the shrubs of unnameable greens, where white light bouncing off white walls does not touch your skin but sear you all the same⁠— the snip of metal, the lull of sporadic humming, sends you to opiated oblivion, and on your feet: waves of dark hair touch the earth and get blown away lightly, slowly
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Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 8:19 AM UTC
cutting my hair on a sunday morning
beneath the tin roof, beside the shrubs of unnameable greens, where white light bouncing off white walls does not touch your skin but sear you all the same⁠— the snip of metal, the lull of sporadic humming, sends you to opiated oblivion, and on your feet: waves of dark hair touch the earth and get blown away lightly, slowly
roannemanio
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Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 8:19 AM UTC
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