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Sarina Mann
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I come from a Red Casket on a hill infront of a disgusting sunset.
Because, where I come from,
the drops of dew on flower petals is just hot glue.
& the grass is, too.
And sometimes.
When children go outside in the early morning hours,
unsupervised,
they lay down in the grass to frolic and play,
but they rip half of their skin off by mistake.
ibekoo's Genres: Narrative poetry
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