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Jul 5
Perhaps if my words
were as polished as flat circular stones;
and easily skippable across
the pristine and perfect still lake,
I could strangle them out
of my choking oesophagus
one by one with no mercy -
until my eyes were no longer strained red,
and my breathing was once again rhythmic.
My body could throw them up in the depths
and forever leave them
in my far peripheral vision
Foogle
Written by
Foogle  15
(15)   
35
     Thirty Nine, CantSeeMe and Lyle
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