Natural CausesA Poem by SpydaMother Nature, make up your goddamn mind. If even the seasons don’t know who they want to be, then how should I? I want the streets to be painted with leaves, because the trees are all that’s left for me; or the snow to fall so hard that I can barely breathe. And I’ll let the seasons kill me. © 2013 Spyda |
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Added on March 12, 2013 Last Updated on March 12, 2013 |

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