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This is our last chance to grieve Dear Lord, I was only thirteen The host of trepidation freshly forgot, You coerced forgiveness from fester and rot  
You were the prophet With the truth of life written Across your palms And I would pray that Your overlapping sentences Would complete my broken ones And replace time with Perfect memories
We were not meant to be a people whole. Our bodies divide humanity’s soul. We were born broken, so that the life may pass through us, so that windy gusts may not topple us.
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