sores my fingers and knuckles
trapped in the memory
of a dream within a dream
moving on from painters
to poets
dead, rotted, addicted poets who
pine for dead cousins
how sick of me
I am wanting to be
somebody somewhere�s
annabelle lee
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| collecting shells in the fading sea light sores my fingers and knuckles trapped in the memory of a dream within a dream moving on from painters to poets dead, rotted, addicted poets who pine for dead cousins how sick of me I am wanting to be somebody somewhere�s annabelle lee |
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