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		<title>alexiamarie | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/alexiamarie</link>
		<description>The original writings of author alexiamarie</description>
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		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>The Death of a Sibling (prologue) </title>
			<description>Prologue&amp;nbsp;And this grief will never let me go, said my brother.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;It was guilt that had been his shadow, it was guilt that had been eating at him all these years. We all saw it &amp;#2013266048;&quot; it&amp;rsquo;s fair to say we all experienced it, the five of us, but..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2974198/</link>
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			<title>my book</title>
			<description></description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2974196/</link>
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			<title>we are the dead</title>
			<description>we sit in our dark circles and devour our own tormentto keep us from our mind.when night comes we lay in fear of ourselves.we trample lives under our feet and say we are not seen.we are the dead.&amp;nbsp;the forgotten cry out for help, but do we pretend to hear?&amp;nbsp;we have become so obstinate that we..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2962734/</link>
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			<title>to the burnt out kid</title>
			<description>the sea will always be there,to whisper winds into your ear,to take you in whole,to seep salt into your eyelids,the sea will always be there.&amp;nbsp;the ground will always wait,to bury your blooming corpse,to stuff your mouth with flowers,to seal what is to be no more,the ground will always wait.&amp;nbsp..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2962733/</link>
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			<title>i was never born to be a poet.</title>
			<description>i was never born to be a poet, not to live as a subject either.fake it till you make it but i feel sick when i lie.i'm not genuine, i'm not what i tell people i ami'm a fraud and i've always known itand i also know i've gone too far to live otherwise.i was never born to be a poet.my hair is already ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2960972/</link>
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			<title>and this grief will never let me go</title>
			<description>And this grief will never let me go, said my brother.I&amp;rsquo;ve always felt for him and I longed to understand what he couldn&amp;rsquo;t tell me. He was let go at last of this pain after decades of living with it, he must have been grateful, but he left me a bitter life to live with.&amp;nbsp;It was Octobe..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2955150/</link>
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			<title>and your name will just continue to get harder to swallow</title>
			<description>you gave me a heart that never pulsed.against your better judgement i suppose.so it sprung upon us and closed around both of our throatsbut I was letting it grow flowers that were really weedsand you let it stuff dirt down your pipessuffocating your voicedrown and snatch away all of your liesall of ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2954099/</link>
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			<title>through all of this, i am painfully reminded of you </title>
			<description>just a snippet from my book</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2954098/</link>
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			<title>a thousand years </title>
			<description>sitting frozen like a corpse in the dark, a gargoyle, it feels like I've been here for a millennia.I've wondered for a lifetime how anyone would let me get this old without warning me.it's too late, it's too late,&amp;nbsp;I murmur but it feels like I'm chanting an ancient spell to arouse the gods.too o..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2950841/</link>
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			<title>eleanor may</title>
			<description>eleanor may, house vacant for two or three days.silver and blue tinsel tossed carelessly on the kitchen window,couldn't bother herself to put up anymore,family traditions feel like a sickening guilt.a tiny bag of collected stones next to the door,one of the few things that made her less miserable,no..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2950840/</link>
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			<title>for the little girl</title>
			<description>I look, and look, and look,but where have my desires gone to?I knew so clearly when I was young.oh to be that restless spirit again,when she could conquer the worldand be whatever she pleased.of the little girl who came to passshe could hold herself on her own little knees,and I, now I, cannot see b..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/alexiamarie/2950839/</link>
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