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Miss King is fat
with flesh, flesh...
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I enclose no desire to write about the
country resting in South Asia...
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When Will It End...
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this ripe, fair skin...
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When the coldness
that comes along with emptiness...
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Suffering pictures bleed black and white,
Visions now ebb from waking sight...
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Our little homecoming queen, standing on the...
Got her finger down her throat, she won't fail...
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(this poem is currently in the process of being...
My head lays on my pillow...
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Lost in sweet refelctions
And eerie silence...
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The birds are flying freely,
and chirping like an orchestra...
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When I first saw you
I felt suffocate...
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You were once my 4 seasons,
but I despised cold the most...