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Beside the foxglove,
planted loudly to the drum
of my Nan's eventual euthanasia,
I smoke a King
behind a wall of potato chips and chocolate
and ash.

The tattoo on my right foot
is truly red under the white light
that overcasts the sky,
bland strands of puff to add to.

The wind blows untied pieces of hair
across my face
and it annoys my nose.

Poems and tokes to finish.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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