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"longest" poems
except that you have attached your parfumed, par~col~odored exhalations into our shared airs, with uniqued fumes,    thy airy essences to thine own chosen words, in combines never before seen or heard, but worn by you, draped from chains abound your neck, dripping from thy tongue, dropping from thine eyes, leaking from your pores, from fingers in rose gold adorning rings bright shining so more, so unique, impossible to misidentify as anything anybody any anything, but yours, yours…yours,      but not belabor this fact basic, disguise your name, hide your fame, make your locale, somewhere in the unreachable, unreal, multiverse, none the less, and allthemore, cannot escape, the ultimate reality, when first you press that keyed SEND, you have parted, done with, an immeasurable small but grandeured piece of your unique self, if that makes you anxious, here my eyes crinkle sympathetically, am please to blurt this major alert: u have nothing to fear, too late, too late, you are now made, part and particle, past participle futured history in the particulared, longest continuum on this tiny, tiny planet oh well, just thought you'd like to know, despite your guises, your are now 100 per cent, immutable ^ 10/5/25 staying alive
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Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 8:23 PM UTC
Immutable: you 🫵...have nothing to be anxious about 👍
January cold desolate; February all dripping wet; March wind ranges; April changes; Birds sing in tune To flowers of May, And sunny June Brings longest day; In scorched July The storm-clouds fly Lightning torn; August bears corn, September fruit; In rough October Earth must disrobe her; Stars fall and shoot In keen November; And night is long And cold is strong In bleak December.
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39.6k
Months
someone's in the next room over having *** while we are weeping what a way to mark the occasion the day my fingers found a wound you let someone else doctor it's upsetting see the bible in drawer next to us the way our hands still fit together like the torn halves of a love letter the way you got all dressed up like the rain and how we couldn't tell the difference in the shower it was the longest hour and a half spent crying the hot water wouldn't give up so why should we right? even though it was scalding neither of us touched the **** we knew this was supposed to hurt your hair a black mess against my shoulder my fingers oil in the vinegar of your hands our bodies the great divide all the sobbing a river runs through it without the courage to carry or **** us so we step out and drip dry down to a mute breakfast composed of quiet and last nights liquor as we came back in there were people in our room at first i thought them detectives dissecting things to see who had died here i had forgotten this was a hotel and they were only cleaning up after us i wanted to stop them plead that the sheets were still perfect that if they clean the bathroom no one will know what happened here someone has to remember *"please i know these cigarette burns by name i will bury the faucet let me take the tub i don't care how if i have to i will drag it home by hand*"
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Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
8th st
Dearest Destined Jewel,                                          Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring. Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal. Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul. A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits. © Sia Jane
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Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Ophelia drowning
Dear friend, I searched the world for you climbed the highest mountain swam the longest nile Why were you hiding? I faced horrific demons swam through trecherous waves almost drowning in tears of frustration Where were you? I heard you were hurting felt your heart melting sensed you were wanting I'm looking... I'm comming Then there you were right beside me within me You are me..
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Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
You are me
I don’t know how to love you. He broke me down like the longest math equation. But, in the process of solving he found no solution. Only lost numbers memories stuck on the chalkboard. You say you’re too broken too. But now you’re here. Confused and softened possibly afraid. Definitely afraid. And in this moment my mind flushed with all of the feelings I kept in my little locked box. The cherishment I have for you and the care and want that come along with you. I wanted you. I want you. But my brain tells me I don’t. So my words are broken but my mind is made up. I want to be with you but you don’t want to be with a f—- up.
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May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
We like each other, okay?
*With one old roller skate I'd be out to play The local boys Would stay all day Remove the straps You’re left with a chassis Then an old Beano book It looked real classy Now to the longest bank Only one car a day Place the book on top We’re on our way Sitting low legs outstretched Leaning back the race begins Round the corner leaning to the side Riding our skateboards with pride No designer logo Or high speed wheels To come to a stop We used our heels Those summer days we were young Happy children having fun It cost not a penny to improvise One old skate with a book the right size It's quite sad to see All the waste today Expensive toys Just thrown away*
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Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
Skateboard
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death       on the breath of Spring. I imagined it being tossed out a truck window by underage teens fancying themselves clever       and mature and immortal as if the earth had willed upon them       that her stolen treasure, Aluminum, be returned or she’d cause their truck keys       disappear for all eternity.       I picked up the blue bottle tried to feel resurrection       in a recycling sort of way felt instead only the hollow emptiness       of mindless eternal reincarnation. Winter had been long this year and lately I fantasized resurrection more than usual at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle. Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot. At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more, then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head, in self-inflicted baptism       for my own blue bottle sins, opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments, pulled out of the water gasping the holy Spring air       for dear life and thereafter walked each step in the garden of resurrection.
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Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
The Blue Bottle
Winter sunrise on my last and longest day, wrap me in a winding sheet of flaming orange take the reds and pinks from midnight blue to make my shroud let me rest in heaven fire drown my tired soul in colour drinking the final carnival warmth for my bones, a funeral of skies and wonders
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Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 3:30 AM UTC
Final Poem For An Old Friend
Do you ever stop and think I'm not just trying to be cheap with these words that I speak? They're everything that I wanted to say but you stole them away. And I know I can't stay but how do I leave the girl of my dreams alone? Do you ever stop and think of me? Well I've been thinking of you with everything that I do. And all the words I wanted to say you'd just throw them away. And I know I can't stay but how do I leave the girl of my dreams alone? Jellybean you know you make me scream but I'll be crying out in vain forever. Jellybean you know you'll make me sing the song without a name forever. Burst out in a curse at the wind. Do you know how it feels to be the only one to see? Forever really is the longest time. Now I know I've gotta live a life alone. But it's not what I wanted. You've gotta know that I wanted Jellybean.
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Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
Jellybean (The Song without a Name)
They say the unexpected lasts the longest Can you be my unexpected? hit me like a storm, sweep me off my feet take me to paradise with just one smile You can be my everything, you will be my love All it takes is one sudden chance Close your eyes and kiss me deep Make me feel special, i beg you, please
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Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
unexpected
I don’t always know what you think of our love Or if I’ll ever learn But I picture a two wick candle set out to burn I don’t know the depth of the wax Or who’s wick will be the longest to last All I see is the flame So untamed The light of the two wicks look one in the very same The scent of everything Happy and sad Thoughts said and unsaid I would turn my back to the sun Watch our candle for eternity as my new one I don’t know about you But as long as I see our Wicks in your eyes It will always be you I come to
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Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Our Candle
The longest hug is the warmest.
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Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
Hug me
I remember my old grand dad Always wore his Sunday best We always called him "Poppy" It was always pinned upon his chest For as long as I remember He always had that piece of red Tattered, torn, but sturdy In memory of the dead Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" sat out on the porch With his beat up Meerschaum pipe He kept it tight between his lips I never once saw it alight He'd stare out in the distance Seeing things from back in time He'd listen to the voices He never quite heard mine We lost him back in eighty three When "Poppy" got the wire He was the last of his platoon They had just lost Cpl. Squire Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" went inside himself Never spoke another word He was back with his old friends As free as a free bird Each year he would get dressed up "Poppy" would go out on parade He never, ever left the house The porch was the longest trip he made On the eleventh of November He'd would polish up his boots And at precisely eleven hundred hours He would stand there and salute Two minutes more of silence From a man who didn't speak But his actions, they said volumes They showed that "Poppy" was not weak Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" never left his prison The one he created in his head His world was just the front porch And the life that he once led I remember my old grand dad With his poppy, beat by time It would adorn his chest proudly And I now wear it on mine.
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Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
"Poppy"
I remember my old grand dad Always wore his Sunday best We always called him "Poppy" It was always pinned upon his chest For as long as I remember He always had that piece of red Tattered, torn, but sturdy In memory of the dead Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" sat out on the porch With his beat up Meerschaum pipe He kept it tight between his lips I never once saw it alight He'd stare out in the distance Seeing things from back in time He'd listen to the voices He never quite heard mine We lost him back in eighty three When "Poppy" got the wire He was the last of his platoon They had just lost Cpl. Squire Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" went inside himself Never spoke another word He was back with his old friends As free as a free bird Each year he would get dressed up "Poppy" would go out on parade He never, ever left the house The porch was the longest trip he made On the eleventh of November He'd would polish up his boots And at precisely eleven hundred hours He would stand there and salute Two minutes more of silence From a man who didn't speak But his actions, they said volumes They showed that "Poppy" was not weak Echoes in his mind of years Images so real I never asked him what he saw His tears...they sealed the deal A silver screen of vintage flicks In his brain of days gone by Of good times with the friends he had Of the days he saw them die "Poppy" never left his prison The one he created in his head His world was just the front porch And the life that he once led I remember my old grand dad With his poppy, beat by time It would adorn his chest proudly And I now wear it on mine.
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sometimes i dont eat the longest i've gone is three weeks i lay in bed ,my stomach in knots cant stand up too quickly dont wanna see spots my body failed me again bile came, hunger left i cant quite remember when water is my only friend it soothes the hurt acid reflux temporarily ends water runs down my throat when i move, it sloshes in my belly sound like waves against a boat   heartburn comes at night my body and brain are at war im kept awake while they fight headaches come back it hurts to open my eyes i know its from the calories i lack when i can handle a taste other then bile i eat and eat , i'm called a pork chop i know its a joke so i hide the pain with a smile if only they knew how i hate my body and the pants sizes i blew but its something i keep to myself no need to bother someone else its not like am a fragile doll on a shelf ....or am I ?
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Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
Eat
I haven't stayed up this late since our restless early morning contests to see who would fall victim to heavy eyelids and tired thoughts. I won of course, you most of the time, but I won on the longest nights (or so I'd like to think) though my satisfaction was rooted from something entirely different. To be honest, I could have cared less about the victor; I was competitive but I liked when you won - the shine in your voice and the glimmer in your smile telling me how I snored through the night (I didn't) was much more rewarding. I haven't stayed up this long since our late night conversations turned into early morning slurred sentences of who could make the most sense whilst repeating I love you inaudibly through earphone speakers and bundled blankets. And as much as the tiredness enveloped me in its embrace, the thought of yours implied through the telephone waves proved to be worthwhile, nonetheless. You were miles beyond my reach, but you were simple words away. ***I haven't stayed up this late since we fell asleep falling in love*** in different beds but with the same desires, on the same line; on the same page. And I hate to admit it, but I still like to think of it that way. - g.d.
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Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
3:58 am
her ring sits on the mantlepiece worn thin on one side that dull warm yellow that gold sometimes takes on i remember it cutting into my hand as she held it tightly as we shopped it was bright and shiny then she used to wear it on her longest finger after dad left us, she left it off for awhile and then wore it on the other hand it was tight on her workworn hands then she took it off again before she went into this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting for me to find a safe place for it for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit that will one day be part of my son's wedding ring,
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Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
continuation
You are the rock stuck inside of my sock. You are drying off naturally after the longest shower in history, because you forgot the towel. Like the string that is hanging off of my sweater. I keep tugging it and pretty soon it is short enough for July weather. The person using the car horn instead of ringing a door bell. The low battery symbol on my cell. Pungent perfume from a co-worker, the grossest smell. The **** that asks for the red piece from your package of sweets. The friend who cancels five minutes before every time you meet. The rap artist that thanks God when he wins an award, even though his songs are just about killing. Medical technicians milling about when your arm really is broken. The chapstick left in the pocket when the clothes are in a dryer. Dress pants for work that are so tight, you feel you must be riding a wire. The friend's children that you think are rude, Unexpected company when you and your lover were getting in the mood. But I guess it is just easier to say, I just don't have a good attitude.
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Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
annoying people
We found each other at the wrong time From that moment We knew exactly what we felt-- a fire ignites that we have to utterly resist You are with her and I, with him Who knew then? That we will both have the same feelings that has been kept for so long Fate paved a way We were both in pain We found ourselves lost Alone.. The things that we planned for the rest of our lives vanished into thin air and became invisible Then, we found each other.. Again.. We started something special You took my pain away You smiled and laughed with me So innocent and sincere For the longest time We both know what we want At last! We can be more than what we had More than friends This time We are both ready But the odds are still against us How unfortunate this is We both have too much to fix These too shall pass, we know When? We don't know And when it does? Will we be together now? We both know We don't want to let each other go We are both holding on I won't let go I won't let you go I believe in possibilities Know that I will think of you I will pray and have faith Everyday Let's be strong You made me feel special What we have is one in a million I cannot just throw it away Everything you told me will be safe with me.. You are the one that I want to keep Forever.. I think you are the best yet You will always have me.. Come back and find me You already found me. Twice. You can always find your way back to me.. - Ella Salvador
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May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
Right Person, Right Love, Wrong Time
Why does everything seem so small when something becomes larger? I'm confused Why do people want what they don't have even though it is more than what most have? Does it make sense to you? Why do people say life is so short when it is the longest thing you will ever experience? oh, does anybody understand?
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May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 2:10 PM UTC
Confused
Confession time, Where's my priest? When I was little I had it all planned out. "In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, Amen. It has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins." I fought with my family. I swore. And I lied. That is what I said for seven years. I loved to throw a wrench in the machine. When I was fourteen I added in a little tid bit to my routine. "I am gay". It was the longest pause I had ever heard. And then it went completely ignored. How rude of me to try and provoke you, father.
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Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Reconciliation
Sunshine helps. Sunshine helps on the days I lay around sinking deeper into my depression. The room always seems to be dark on those days. Sunshine helps. It may be a romantic point of view but I find nature soothing. The smell of rain never ceases to make me smile. Sunshine helps. It reminds me of me before depression. Back at camp. Making music. Making friends. I used to smile so much. Sunshine helps. I don’t smile anymore. Not like I used to. It’s more painful to do so now. Sunshine helps. I like to take the longest paths when I’m outside. I like the wind against my face. I like wandering aimlessly. It helps clear my head. Sunshine helps. Some where along the way I started associating you with sunshine. Maybe it was the light in your eyes. Maybe it was your warm smile. But since I’ve met you I’ve realized that things are going to be okay. Sunshine helps and you help me step into the sun.
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Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
You are my sunshine
Late nights in your car, listening to turnover and drinking coffee. For the longest time I was that girl in the Paramore shirt and converse. Eventually you asked me my name and to be friends. Friends didn't last long due to the fact that we clicked instantly. From music to mannerisms we were in sync. When I think of you, I smell coffee and cigarettes.   I feel warm knowing I'll always have your jacket and arms to keep me warm. I'm always cold because I know we're both terrified to lose each other. But when I started to drift from you for the first time, you didn't say anything because you didn't want to be over-barring. After a while you caved and finally told me you missed me. But what I miss, is the way it feels when you hugged me and i breathed in your scent. When you touch me, I have no thoughts, all I hear is complete silence. I'm always nervous but more calm than ever with you. You know my struggles and have seen my scars but still tell me its okay and I'm beautiful anyways. I like the way your eyes light up when you talk about the new sextape single; your smile is contagious. You say I make you jealous when I talk about all the boys who've touched me, But no one is more jealous than me when I think about all the girls you've held and told THEM that you LOVED THEM. I don't think I can handle us being "friends" much longer. Every time I'm with you I go to grab your hand but never reach it because I'm scared for your hand to slip out of mine. I never thought of my future because I'd rather be dead, but if you're with me, being alive doesn't sound too bad.
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
I Think I Love You but I'm Scared
Late nights in your car, listening to turnover and drinking coffee. For the longest time I was that girl in the Paramore shirt and converse. Eventually you asked me my name and to be friends. Friends didn't last long due to the fact that we clicked instantly. From music to mannerisms we were in sync. When I think of you, I smell coffee and cigarettes.   I feel warm knowing I'll always have your jacket and arms to keep me warm. I'm always cold because I know we're both terrified to lose each other. But when I started to drift from you for the first time, you didn't say anything because you didn't want to be over-barring. After a while you caved and finally told me you missed me. But what I miss, is the way it feels when you hugged me and i breathed in your scent. When you touch me, I have no thoughts, all I hear is complete silence. I'm always nervous but more calm than ever with you. You know my struggles and have seen my scars but still tell me its okay and I'm beautiful anyways. I like the way your eyes light up when you talk about the new sextape single; your smile is contagious. You say I make you jealous when I talk about all the boys who've touched me, But no one is more jealous than me when I think about all the girls you've held and told THEM that you LOVED THEM. I don't think I can handle us being "friends" much longer. Every time I'm with you I go to grab your hand but never reach it because I'm scared for your hand to slip out of mine. I never thought of my future because I'd rather be dead, but if you're with me, being alive doesn't sound too bad.
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Walk by numbers in the Parisian palette , spreading the paint around in a long line of lip red scarlet. Pipette sized width following you as you tread on stone, you’re new. Sit with the trains and listen to walls and notice small change, loose change on the floors. Passenger’s stare moves you from carriage to carriage, regardless of UK, American baggage. Surface again, the longest breath you’ve ever held has escaped again into winter’s cold. Steps climb and feet follow, Anubis with a rifle watching over- graffiti crowd control for the younger; sad face, a smile face, Sacre Coeur white face. Sink down along the track, railway men hanging large and fat. Tea for two with warm milk, tea for two without the milk, no tea- up and leave, tip with guilt. **** kicker Paris scruffs her shoes amongst the paint, the blues, the museum’s closed. Again, we have to wait for the universe to align before we get to see her smile. Wait, keep waiting, Mars is coming, revolving towards us. Doors unlock and we enter a tide of tourist and artist and the modernist futurist- lost in this department. She sits there still, not smiling Paris, without you no coffee would ever be deemed good. Without you, I’d be lost and artless and heartless and broke. Even when you take the covers from under me- I’m still warm.
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Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 4:32 AM UTC
Paris In Winter Is How I See Paris In My Head
I blot people onto me, just to buff them away. Soakin em, and pressin em on. Dabbin, pressin, soakin, like temporary tattoos. Easy to apply, and pretty to look at. Fun to show off, without any commitments, and then I just let em peel away after some time. After their bright pigment fades, or their adhesive fails, I just rub em off. Scratch em with my fingernails sometimes, when I get impatient. Rub, scratch, off. Now, right now. I’m tired of lookin at you, feelin you on my skin. I wore you for a bit, Now it’s time for a new one. Rub, scratch, dab, press, soak, press again again again. Skin red, dry skin rub rub dab dab dab peel peel dab peel. And then, the ones I like the most, the most beautiful, the most vibrant, color, color, color. Purple, green. purple purple Purple, are the ones I try to keep the longest, they’re always the quickest to fade, and to peel, and to fail. Fail fail fail, come unglued. Keep em out of the sunlight, outta the wind. In the dry. But they peel. Peel peel peel, fail. They fail. And then, I can’t find others quite like em. So I press on any old picture. Any color. Gray, red, yellow, blue. Not quite right, no blue, no citron, no salmon. Not quite purple enough. Not quite green. Not quite, never quite the same. The same purple, the same green. Just soak soak soak soak, Press. Peel. Until, again, something might feel right.
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Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 8:28 AM UTC
Temporary Tattoos