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Dear John,
February 14, 2011
Why do my tears spill along the page?
Make it wet and disarranged
What once were beautiful words
Are smeared,
Smudged,
And purged.
Black blood trickles down the page
Watered down
From the tears that diverge my pain
As I write
My words burn
You meant everything
But I concur
My letter starts out,
Dear John,
I'm moving on...
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