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©2008-2009 ~kiwigrass
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The colour of her lips is too dark. I don’t like it. It is derelict. Her flesh is falling… it hangs off her sharp bones. She doesn’t hear anymore. She only looks at me with those blank eyes. I read her old letters and buy her cigarettes. Our life smells like soap and fish. We are stuck in the middle of an ocean, while everyone else moves so fast. She doesn’t let me go.

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July 13, 2008
372 KB
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