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The tree

The wind blows like a palm tree sways, the tree reminds me of you.
Your body is the trunk
Your mangled hair is the leaves
I always sit at the trunk of you.

Your friends lay beside you.
They don`t talk, just lay there.
Some of your friend are wearing victorian clothes, some are wearing the clothes from the earth.

So as they lay there, and the occasional crow who is our only compaion; comes and sits on one of your branches. He is the only one who talks. Besides your branches swaying like a palm tree.





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