‎Friday, ‎June ‎13, ‎2014

Like the plastic bags gets wasted
I am on waste as to be used and trashed
As tales replicates from delicate lips to lips
My breath has caught again
On some worn grave of my classified mess
Tall as I have always stood, claimed as emotional tool..
Flaming the wound from former wood, what a fool
Everyone is here; every one as some who swear to save me through
But as they laugh as I slip in my own steps
They march over me and protest on my lack, you


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