November 7, 2016
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The minute I read you

I started to burn

From the ground.

Like a few days ago when

We cried on each other

In your mother's back bedroom.

I realized that 

You do not understand, hard as you try,


And I do not know how to show you

Without yelling out my anguish

Into the phone

Or by hanging a rope of flowers

Proving I'd rather die;

Corrupt, with satire,

And be gone.

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