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Literature Text
I brush my teeth, hard.
Back and forth, until they turn
Into piles of sand
Pressure on my chest
A shadow in the corner
The air is static
A prick on my thumb
The wheel continues spinning
But I have gone still
Back and forth, until they turn
Into piles of sand
Pressure on my chest
A shadow in the corner
The air is static
A prick on my thumb
The wheel continues spinning
But I have gone still
22 October 2014
© 2014 - 2024 thegraveyardhag
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