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deborah brandon |
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SUICIDE SUMMER
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SUICIDE SUMMER
Suicide
summer & I am stunted. I slake my sadness starving. Nights pull out into
the opposite lane to roar past days. My ribs more visible on the daily, I shove
the book I'm writing into hypoxia. Thick draws from cigarettes. Hours of nothing
else on my lips. Days. My friend, now gone, would never have stood for this. I
leave a white rose on the windowsill of the room in which she died, find my
name and infinity signs etched into the balcony, know this cannot last forever.
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