1 Poetry

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Tenebrae 19 May 2012 Tag: Raw

A Raw Citrus Peels

Something smells of raw deals or flesh rotten citrus, and somehow, I can’t tell the difference. The liquid hypodermics, dissolving through my pores, the rush, from which, is carrying me home. Speech impediments are fun when talking to no one, pretending to be ham radio feed....

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