Pita Paint: Archive

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A Poetic Exit

I can’t put any reason to why you left, the door you walked through is hard to shut. I can’t find oil for it’s hinges, the thought of your lifeless body has rusted them solid. Perhaps the natural flow will bring us to allow the breeze to come in, after all it seems that’s what attracted you most. You now blow in the wind with bits of cotton. Now I am...