BruisesA Poem by AliasPurple blossoms flower on my skin. One by one they die and wither, Ugly yellow tinged with green, And settle, unbroken white, As if they had never been. Before the clotted blooms die out They are happy reminders, Of drunken tumbles, Passionate fumbles, And clumsy accidents we laughed about. © 2015 AliasFeatured Review
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Added on December 7, 2015Last Updated on December 8, 2015 |

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