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it’s the black power
the ebony ego
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she is the scabbed skin
you want to pick off before its time is due
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In this poem I am a bookshelf destroyer
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i talk into your mouth
because I’m bored of whispering
by Abscessed
32 lines, 4 comments,
on Jul 29 1:55 PM 2008. In Life
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her face gleamed with sequins
clear iridescence stuck with static
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I think of you
and my lips cant help but twitch to
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Dear oblivious Bombay barista boy,
I lie here sipping from the sole of your shoe,
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These threads
damp in the sky
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It opened to a waft
Jasmine and sea breeze
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I come from fried chocolate donuts
Uno cards, musical chairs,
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she curl-hooked her legs
twice
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The heartbreak within me thinks it’s time to buy another box of tissues
The room is saline and smells of a stuffy nose.
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down this cobbled alley
i remember a youandme
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we are on the verge
of a being;
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sunday morning
wanted me to unwind
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she dove in naked
only to find a way back up to the surface
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i was wondering
why she raised her eyebrows
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It was just another
4 pm guilty mushroom pasty
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