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Saturday, January 18, 2014


06. Smoke

bY Arcassin Burnham

mirrors on the wall,
guess your martians came to get you,
which make a down fall,
my hands are icing down , somebody come and get the virtue,

high on the sea drug,
when you slipped me the tounge
stains on the rug,
Alien blood leaking out of your lungs,
so you light you another,
just to get beside the fact,
that your leaving this planet,
without planning an attack,
will you ever come back,
im feeling empty,
the'll never know your real,
in fact they will find it imaginary.
i miss you,

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