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DIANA MARIN

CREATIVE WRITER & SOCIAL MEDIA SPECIALIST

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otherworld

A poem: Afterlife

I taste the blood of dehydrated lips,
admire the inadequately plucked eyebrows
above vapid black circles surrounded by
red on translucent white.
Dark hair, itchy like rope
against my neck,
frozen hands trembling,
features particularly thin:
I forgot how to live,
yet I laugh at my own sin.

March 17, 2017Diana Marin diary, free verse, memory, musings, otherworld, poem, poetry, thoughts, writing, writing blog 2 Comments
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