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Empty as the soil once the flower bed's
been pruned. Lost as a
drop of rain, crashing, stomach-first,
into the river.
Hopeless as a promise, I will live.
But my garden is long gone and my
womb will be bare.
Reality
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Empty as the soil once the flower bed's
been pruned. Lost as a
drop of rain, crashing, stomach-first,
into the river.
Hopeless as a promise, I will live.
But my garden is long gone and my
womb will be bare.
0 Kudos
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