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Teenage Witch
December 21, 2015
the touch of an impure soul consumes me,
Filled with temporary happiness,
Casting a spell,
Turning to stone.
A musty scent clouds my mind as the climatic end is nearing,
Running discombobulated,
With blood rushing,
I fall into a pit of darkness,
Magical tastes of success roam the room,
I plead victory.
© Amanda S., Congers, NY
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