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Twisted Poet
Poems
May 20
Blue eyed boy
I used to think blue eyes were pretty,
his were not.
his were not cornflower, sapphire, baby, indigo, azure,
or cloudy sky blue.
His were midnight where the light pollution from the city blocks the stars.
Iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death
Written by
Twisted Poet
16/F/New Zealand
(16/F/New Zealand)
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