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a dead (too soon?) end hits full face in the sahara summerlike terra. population: one turmoiled teenage girl. dusty path marked with nails shooting up from the roads. leading to a gas station and diner. alone in the savannah trickling with the pointy daggers; trying not to hit a tire. hoping i don’t fuck up again.

the sign shows a diver descending down into murky night waters. she swims, she floats; she’s safe. outside, the sky glitters like those staircase jewels mockingly, with the red swimsuit smile. i taste salt in my lips as i cry. for somewhere inside me lies a heart so bruised and broken; filled with guilt. a phantom screaming to be free.

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Profile for soliloquie2

Soliloquie Issue #3 - Freedom  

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