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Damaged
How can 162 centimeters
contain SO much pain?
It cannot !
So you spit and you snarl
and you squeal and you squall
and question the kindness
that makes do with it all.
_
Yet like the Pacific
slaps fog on our shore,
your selves coincide
with bewitching rapport.
You're a middle-aged boy,
with a magic advantage
- an endearingly deadly
descendent of damage.
