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something wicked this way comes
Friday
churning
not fitting in burns lines deep into my face,
marking more each day why I can't.
sending signals, turning heads,
s p e l l i n g i t o u t.
i refuse to look in a mirror.
i don't want to know what creeps there on hands and knees behind my eyes.
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canary in a coal mine
taye
hey isn't this easy.
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settling
churning
backwards
rapid hope loss.
shrunken lungs
I always end up right here
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