2011-01-09
in the old house
My mother plays broken piano in the old house. I type poems in the old house. I don't go outside anymore. I peek through the curtains at girls walking outside. I watch their hair catch fire in the sun.
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2011-01-09
in the old house
My mother plays broken piano in the old house. I type poems in the old house. I don't go outside anymore. I peek through the curtains at girls walking outside. I watch their hair catch fire in the sun.
|