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vanilla
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a small amount of potential 1:12 a.m.
monday
dim and red
i am the mirror
cold again, glass again
his arms can't hold me without getting cut
i did it again
believe my smiles with pill-coated teeth
bare and exposed on this hard wood floor
patchouli screaming through my hair in place
of your hands
your hands
please let it disappear
fade into an endless mirror
how could something so sour come
from something so sweet
