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I remember not the innocent death of my smile.

For it was all but innocent. 

My smile was murdered by those with the twisted faces

And shadowed bodies

That would huddle around mine and take away the only thing I had left.

The smile I always would use to hide my freshly bleeding wounds,

It ever so slowly went away

With every man who got his way

With my frail shaking limbs

And tiny shaking hands.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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