About Moss Booker
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Some people grieve by the skin of their teeth, But I lie in a casket of sun tarnished flowers. Feasting my fears with pollen and mold, Gold winged beetles make a home in my bones. Dragonflies weave tears into thread on my eyes, Sealing my sorrow in a vessel of silence. The stars are bitter when the moon is awake, They only smile when she fails to shine. I wonder if the sun has a similar cycle, If ...
Next Month's Rent
Sep 12, 2021
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