Ropes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dull

Submitted: April 08, 2007

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Submitted: April 08, 2007

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Ropes tied at ankles
Breath labored
Dripping from fingers
Skin will decay
Hair will fall to the Earth
There was a suitcase
Now lined in satin
That will caress bare skin
But not break the surface
As if goose bumps are the only protection


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