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Words by taotsu

this is not the final destination

Cigarettes littered on the street.

Unsmoked, untouched.

A waste, on the floor.

The faceless dolls in the shop watch me passing by.

Maybe they wonder what I do this late at night.

I think of you, and hope you do well.

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Posted on 2019-07-28 by Philipp Tautz (otherSmallCities) This entry was posted in poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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