April 7, 2010
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It's hard to recall which type exactly.
When or where you smoked them,
before or after
we tangled ourselves together
and fought and scratched our way out.
You told secrets; I told lies.
When I slid out of bed, into a little black dress,
you asked if everything was okay.
It was always dark enough that you could
never see my face.
So when I whispered the answer,
you never seen the tear fall from my eye.
I think you smoked them after

to lay and watch me burn alive.

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