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She loves the inevitable release,
The cold raw ache,
and the fierce force of
each sound,
like a heart beat of something foreign,
each smell,
like a new inspiration,
and each face,
like a distant memory,
which is the reality the comes,
before she slips, sliding
back under,
NUMB
- by BellusVenenum |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 04/26/2011 |
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