These scars are a private map
Jostled into the parquet corner
Cold and clear
Straight lines
We tell each other it's a small world, here
Hunger is a trap
We collect hunt russets for cider season
December is the cruelest month
When you went away
He bought me a supermarket bouquet
Bravery isn't what we think it is
Little birds
Feelings
Others see you as a wise person
Humans are meant to come in pairs
Short and tall
Humans waste their gifts
No more sonnets
Let the tears fall
Busy busy busy
It's in the way you laugh
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