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literature
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Literature Text
there’s our breakfast-
slapped on the desk
dead center between
us. jesus.
the bread’s fucking stale
we both sigh
to ourselves reasoning
quietly
mouths too damn
tired-
fucking packed
to the brim with
nickels
for every fucking morning
like this.
slapped on the desk
dead center between
us. jesus.
the bread’s fucking stale
we both sigh
to ourselves reasoning
quietly
mouths too damn
tired-
fucking packed
to the brim with
nickels
for every fucking morning
like this.
Comments5
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This is one of those sad types of pretty poems. I like it. c: