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Down your throat
You pull me
Under your
Broken water
And I am the fish
Flopping around
With the hook on my lips
A thorn in my side
A chip on my shoulder
But when I was little
I never played with blocks
I dusted my pockets
With dillusions and chirping crickets

------
"Pretty girls make graves..." -Jack Kerouac


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The following comments are for "Fondling One"
by MerryJayned





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