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Tidbits of Workbound Thought

20 Apr

A crescent moon is slung low in the sky. I got a box full of cancer, and a will to goddamn die. I’m young, and free. I fade in, then out, of me. Can’t pin down, to the ground, something that exists through liquid, and sound.

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Posted by on April 20, 2013 in Paradise Drift

 

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