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Whatever You Can Get
Folder:
A Little Black Book I don’t need proof
a silence or whip
just the churn of its pit
I meld
whole hearted swell
spill my share for you
beaten blue bruise
cover this sting
a lie or truth
forfeit these pounds
aching folding grounds
I know no one more
savage than me
Who do you hurt tonight?
Who do you do in spite
blame your sorry sick
on me
