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Babys no way
Folder:
Somewhat poems Stomache grows into mounds
Is there a breath waiting breathe
Will everything change
Will he be angered
Surly not
Comfort will not be plentiful
And I will be a wreck
Would a simple high make it disappear
I dare not tell the ones who made me
More love will be lost
Can death grasp me
Decapitate my head
And send it to my mom in a box?
