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splintered bones
October 16, 2014
i come from a place where trees are made of bone,
and hearts are made of stone.
turn your head upwards, you'll see no birds flying.
although, they'll be descending to the earth, dying.
the seas flow crimson, and gains its salt from all the tears.
no soul can get accustomed to the hell, no matter how many years.
but if you're the lucky one,
you'll catch a glimpse, just a glimpse of the sun.
© Kelsie L., Sun City, AZ
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