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I’m peeling a clementine and the juice squirted into my eye. It burns like fire.
I was lying there for an hour trying to figure out how to touch you. I wanted to hug you so bad.
Showered, cleansed, and just as tired as I began. And I’m lost in my own metaphors. It’s not easy being 21 in America where you just learn time after time what or who exactly you can live without.
Truth takes your pulse as you lie in peace or in vengeance about who you once were, or you find comfort in thinking that you’ve accomplished something nice and solid.
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