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Too Little, Too Wait
December 9, 2009
Rain drops are a soothing requirement of great silence.
"Pip, Plop," hear the rain itching skin?
Thoughts and weapons compose immense violence.
My individuality is inclined to end.
Overflowing with blood upon my temples; All the rain in the world can't sweep away the red.
Before I departure, I smiled with a conspiracy dimple.
I slit my wrist to make sure I was dead.
© Kari S., Mesa, AZ
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