birthplace,
birthplace 62 A groundhog fills with blood beneath a stop sign. Everyone in the car is playing dead. I’m doing my best to make it look like I’m holding a gun. My hair is made of grief and my fingernails of sleep.
birthplace 62 A groundhog fills with blood beneath a stop sign. Everyone in the car is playing dead. I’m doing my best to make it look like I’m holding a gun. My hair is made of grief and my fingernails of sleep.

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