Sara always said
She didn't want to be hurt
So she never trusted anyone
And so nobody trusted her
And when she died five years later
A twenty-year-old whore with VD
And I still wonder
Whether it would have made any difference
If she had only
Learned to love
Another odd one. It's not at all like what I usually write, and the only explanation I can find is that I must have been under the influence of "A Night Without Armor" (poetry by Ms. I'm-from-Alaska-and-I-used-to-live-in-a-van Jewel Kilcher), which I had just read. I promise I won't weird out like this again any time soon. Though I'm planning to weird out in every other way imaginable.
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I like getting mail. Hint, hint.