We are all but sores that never heal.A Poem by andrew mitchell
We are all but sores
that never heal, our skins are just the bandage. When we pick the sore, it bleeds. Criticise the world, it cuts off your supply. © 2017 andrew mitchellReviews
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1 Review Added on May 29, 2017 Last Updated on May 29, 2017 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..Writing
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