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Soul-searching in a jar


Covfefe

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Sometimes my fear takes shelter in my mouth and refuses to come out...

Sometimes it rains mules and hate texts and my weird scrambles down the wrong hole.

You pluck sadness out before burying a body.

There's a wrapped shame, a slit in every 'feat' that counts and shows. 

I can't speak like the others, I still can't write the shame in every withdrawal.

My God

My all,

Yet she charges for each missed round.

 

I bet it's a human thing,

Losing faith 

and having the dark

chastise you for it.

 

 

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