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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#73951voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Lunch time. Our noon day buffet. The anorexics hang back with wax paper skin, scrutinizing thier flaws. The bulimics stampeed Thier minds starve for what thier stomachs will...
Lunch time. Our noon day buffet. The anorexics hang back with wax paper skin, scrutinizing thier flaws. The bulimics stampeed Thier minds starve for what thier stomachs will...