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Writer's pictureTatianna Wilkins

Scents in a bottle

My scent would be trapped at the curve of your neck

where I attempted to taste your skin

I hope I left with you true love, the love your lies tried to tell me.


I'm glad that's all I left with you, something pure,

maybe a cure to your bleeding ego,

I left my naive heart with a beautiful devil; A devil I saw as an angel.




Your words are nothing to explain.


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