he/him, Todd, 19, a little outlet for the things I write, like a journal for my thoughts
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winter morning in the town of loneliness
my letters to you clutter the floor
they're stained with coffee and love
my spiderweb heart can't even look
but it's from the time it bloomed for you
I bet my flowers have wilt away
and you bet my smoking have stayed
I can't help but think, as rain meets the earth
of what we could be if it didn't end
now I contemplate the withered leaves
could they bloom once again with a kiss?
but my heart couldn't take what you'd give
so I study the results of it
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