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seashells

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sometimes with the night heavy and oppressive,
the moon sunk low and swollen,
i feel the anger build to a crescendo,
a hazy symphony of tight strings and held breaths;

even when the day filters in and the sun
turns like a porcelain ballerina girl,
i feel remnants. i feel
the hot blinding waves lapping at my tongue. there
is gritty sand imprinted on yellow molars., the roof of
my mouth has eroded

i dream of letting the storm spill out of me
like rain gushes from my drainpipes
i have been waterlogged for so long, a
pisces who burns with the salt inside of her

hold me to your ear,
perhaps then the things I want to say will be made
clear.




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