The paint swirls in blue and red
the face I made is upside my own head
the black lines of the charcoal flesh
become the hair
become the mess
my neck doesn't look like his
my mind doesn't float
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...