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Quaking palms buried beneath layers of caked tears / pose as if poised in promising prayer. / Skin as smooth as coffee sweetened by cream / clashes like the politics of vehemence against silent sin / with the sepia-t
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aint that a bitch / shesaid / aint that just a / bitch / she kept pegging up / clothes on the clothes-line / pins in her mouth / aint that a bitch /
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your numbers / up / he-said to me / and as we tiptoed / hand-in-hand / in to the / newborn sun / i thought, (out-loud), / 'well maybe thats / okay' / thats what i / like
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There will be nobody to tell me to go to bed. / I'll go where I please, and if I want, stand on my head. / They try to control me so much t
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Growing cold with-out a doubt / of being hung by loneliness.
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Mary, I'm pregnant and I don't know what to do. / He wants nothing to do with me, and he's denying everything. / I've been truthful I swear. / Mary, I'm pregnant and I'm scared like never before. / I'm too young for
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Fuck—someone's stolen the light bulb from the hallway again. But whatever. Last time it was me. No one cares enough to say anything anyway.
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/ I’m no good with news stories / Or histories— / Truths set in stone. / My words are far too “flowery,” / They make the reader groan. / I write too much like Hollywood / And my story turns to mud. / / Sud
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There are black / holes of water... / I don’t know what / this means... / / Does it mean / that its good? / Or does it mean / that its bad? / / Does anybody / know...what’s / going on? / / The n
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I thought of something today. I told Becca and she said she thought it was a good idea. Maybe, if we could see who had their phones on, it wouldn’t be so hard to reach people. Kind of like the
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Oh how I feel
When some things are Real
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I sit beneath our tree,
an old willow,
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She walks out her door
And steps into the hall
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FICTIONAL! But it could happen.
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I ran all the way It seemed to be faster
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I have my dark spells but so do you
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They tell me to let go Which part of me
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And time was running out.
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I catch these teardrops in my hand Sat under the bridge watching passers by
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I fell asleep. Spontaniously, I stand in the middle of a crosswalk;
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I actually like fairytales but I was in a bad mood so, yeah.
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Irene finally looked away from the television screen. The credits were rolling for “Days of our lives”. She wondered at the immortality of
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Trev stared down at the rotting remains of his knuckles, his face distorted in disgust. The infection had spread its dark
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(written from the perspective of Melquiades/the Narrator of 100 Years of Solitude)
I am what I am and I am a pair of blistered lips cov
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The roses turned black as the gravestone evanesced, And the girl standing before it droped to her knees,
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