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Beaten fabric of a discarded past
Used, half broken by love long forgotten
Hidden crumbs dropped in these folds
Cradling backsides of the downtrodden
No one seems to remember the warmth in these stitches
Cold winter droppings soak this old friend
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Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
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