She held her secret so long and so close that it worked its way into her capillaries and arteries. Her heart whispered it between beats. Messages grew backward on her fingernails. Her spine tried to twist itself cursive. After many years she died a lonely woman, and it was said that on her grave the flowers sprouted in cryptic hieroglyphs
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I've considered submitting them but I haven't really gotten around to it. I don't want to give them titles but it's hard to submit prose poetry without titles. But that's just sort of an excuse not to submit them.
The boy with perfect memory is one of four others, but I'm not sure if they stand up to the rest.
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I can't tell even the subjects of half the poems I read out loud from that prose-poetry book you had.
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amazing amazing amazing.
i thought they were ones you had read and liked and decided to share, until i read the comments.
i can't decide whether i like the first or the third the most. probably the third because it just seems like such an original idea.
i would love to read more so please keep sharing :)
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I have a few others which I'll send to you, I don't think they're quite as good but I hope you'll enjoy them.
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