lungs l a poem


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ask my lungs and they’d tell you the story of tear stained cigarettes and late night smoking that my parents disapprove of. Like they did of you.


 

ask my liver It’d tell you wonderful tales of top ten things that almost tasted like your lips.

 

ask my skin. It’d would scream to you poems about blood stained sweater sleeves and messy sheets, and the pain i inflicted myself that only counted a fracture of the pain I felt when you left. And how not a single tear looked a thing like you.

 

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