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= me.
Novel = Please Die Ana.


One Lost CrowOne lost crow in the desolate snow lets out a mournful plea One lost crow in the desolate snow at a quarter past three. Two quick caws force me to pause as I seek for the dusky black Two quick caws force me to pause and a take a small step back One girl waits by the patterned gates and catches her bated breath One girl waits by the patterned gates to save the sign of death Two wings rustle in a ripple of muscle as the crow resigns to cold Two wings rustle in a ripple of muscle when warming hands take hold One foot clasps, the other grasps the fingers that won't yield One foot clasps, the oOne Lost Crow
Tepia Rain

Then, At the EndThen, At the EndThen, At the End
And I think then that maybe at the end I should have clung to the umbrella, tan And brown to keep from being blown away.
It wasn't something they had told me, but It was that feeling you get when you wake from mango dreams, doubt-heavy upon sense, or that accurséd stomach-sense you get when even you, the cynic, start to wish that somehow you could be a metaphor. It's clear; you--I--should not have let go then, then at the end when sense stopped making its self clear. I know I should not have let go. But I was muddled then. Can I e
Pink Trees
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The Bouncing SPARTAAAAANNN is back.
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Thanks for taking me up on it! I'm excited to see what you'll com up with.
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and I've got wings to fly
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Proverbs 3:5-6
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