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stuartmbuck@hotmail.com

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a rich vein of form

by Stuart Buck

Each night

When I sit down

At this desk

I slit my wrists

I cut my throat

I rip myself apart

First letters drip

Then words pour

Until I am left drained of life

Excreted onto a page

For all to see

Slices of life

A smorgasbord

Of hostility

Repressed fears

Depression

Words

Letters

Meaning.

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Saturday 15th August 2015 3:25 pm

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