I am sick
spiders in my belly
75 degrees and I'm
fucking cold
your betrayals are
not knives but blunt
objects against my
heart
Fragment
Poem, unrhymed, heartsick.
Poem, unrhymed, heartsick.
I am sick
spiders in my belly
75 degrees and I'm
fucking cold
your betrayals are
not knives but blunt
objects against my
heart
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