The fade is on fire the braid is on the head
of mine as I brush it out
it gets caught
I tried to revive it
like ant hills crawling up a piece of yarn
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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 ...