Largely, Death

April 13, 2018
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The car must have,
Hit.
Her.
Hard.
Smashed her face.
Bloodied the road.
The tabloids,
they were there,
to eat whatever,
dignity,
was left.
The press mulled
around
a rounded
dent on
the hood.
Writing:

I wouldn’t be caught dead
with that silhouette.






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