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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1575449
When hope is lost, when hope is found.
Consternation and revulsion leaves me at the most woebegone state of substance. I fail to keep agendas at the instant I encounter the threads.
Thus I fail. Thus I’m frail to the bone.
Yes, I see clearly now, the source, the derivation.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1575449-Sour-frekkin-grapes-and-skin-uncurled