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A Literary Art. By Lauren Parker She blows black thickness; burning brown veins into the ceiling, blurring her blunt, dying eyes. We speak clumsily of sickness and shadows. She seems lost to herself, to her sadness. "Some see stars, some just shine," I say. Molding and shaping my own murky mouthful, I mutter something else my mind grew. "Might over martyr?" I wonder. Love lingers long in my lungs. |
