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Literature Text
My mother's corals
won't serve me for my
obsession
with hangman's nooses.
She's tired of them,
I know,
but she left her scent on them
gentle
against the paper skin
of my still,
cold
chest.
won't serve me for my
obsession
with hangman's nooses.
She's tired of them,
I know,
but she left her scent on them
gentle
against the paper skin
of my still,
cold
chest.
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aaaaaah i've missed your poetry