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May 20
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
Twisted Poet
Written by
Twisted Poet  16/F/New Zealand
(16/F/New Zealand)   
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