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May 2016
we find ourselves crumpled like paper
my nosebleed acts like glue
you smell and taste like pixie dust
my eyes roll around the room

ascending towards heaven
i grip your ribs like handrails

you stop me short -
'i'm going to...'

and like a napkin under the dinner table
iā€™m falling off your lap

you'll remember me when you need to clean up
when you need to wipe your hands
kelia
Written by
kelia
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       CallMeVenus, kfaye, ---, Sk Abdul Aziz, Aeerdna and 4 others
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