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A Poem by ambur

She chases the tear drops down my face,

Her tiny porcelain finger barely makes contact.

She lets out an innocent laugh, such happiness--

While oblivious to the slow death inside me.

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Enjoys the character misery. Not so nice.
But nice write

340 Views
1 Review
Added on January 11, 2013
Last Updated on January 11, 2013

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