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		<title>Justin Miller | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/Fightfair1201</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Justin Miller</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>The World's Not Dead</title>
			<description>A song I wrote about finding the strength and hope to say the world isn't finished although everyone around says it is, and finding those people who believe. </description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1604766/</link>
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		<item>
			<title>Story concept</title>
			<description>Just an idea</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1597632/</link>
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			<title>Burn pt.2</title>
			<description>We are born into thisNot born for thisSo give us the chanceOur opportunity to liveViolence is like gasolineAnd arguments are the fuel for liarsAnd my lungs will fill with smokeAs I burn in the house that we lit on fireTime never stands stillAs our clock is always running outA..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1596682/</link>
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			<title>Deadweight</title>
			<description>My stomach knotsAnd I grit my teethTo know that this weight I carryIs a part of me When I drag my feetWith this anchor in my handsI am unforgivingAnd forget who I amForever hold closeYour past and your presentBut bury your burdenTo remain free and weightless</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1595844/</link>
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			<title>The Stranger</title>
			<description>The stranger watches over as the city sleeps, a little town so silent, as to never hear the solemn weeps. The moon begins to fall as the sun rises to it's feet. A grim, hollow man makes his way into the busy streets. The locals fill the town, singing song, amidst a man who does not belong...</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1595457/</link>
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			<title>Burn</title>
			<description>This is not my homeThis is a house built on hurtMaterialistic walls made of woodand built to burn We tear, we rip, and we breakYou spill the words of a liarYou gave me the matchesto strike our fireIf this Is the life we liveThese four walls that keep me hereare nothing morethan..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Fightfair1201/1595206/</link>
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