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Rinse your poor hands
This is nothing new
Only time will absolve
What hot water can’t

You’ll wake up one morning with more than a devil on your
shoulder and love in the basement. You’ve got hope shining
through the window, but the damn shades closed. You shower in
the dark with the faucet handle pulled until your skin is the only
thing glowing anymore and it’s peeling away like everything else.
So you step out, dry off, and write until your flesh turns to callous
and you fall asleep while an angel washes your hair.

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