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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in poems resolved
the champagne spilled over Rolled and seeped down the stem of the rose color glass while a “fuck you” seeped out between my lips As i tried to lick the overflow I realized you are not worth the effort and I let you fall
sp la t t.
I poured out the remainder filled it fresh with a new sparkle and drank without a care
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