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Th Loving Dead by C.T. Madrigal








                                                                       i hate dust.

not because i am a tidy person, but because it is a constant reminder that the earth is trying to settle on me, trying to cover me with dirt. like gravity, it wants to pull me back into the mulch, to churn me to the bottom of the cycle before it spits me back out, as something new, only to churn it back in again.


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