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On my inability to express myself in my own first language...
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A recent little something - hopefully self-explanatory.
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Be gentle, good surgeon:
A life lies on the table.
The heart you hold in the palm of your hand,
So fragile and slight,
Is the instrument of lo..
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Whitewashed walls and crisp, white uniforms
White-painted metal framing messy white bed sheets
A flat, white windowsill and a dull white sky
Whit..
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For lovers of clichés, or just lovers.
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I lie staring
Et le couteau tombe.
Dehors, il fait froid
And inside myself I freeze.
Le ciel est vide, et mon esprit aussi
There is nothing..
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On the 7/7 London attacks.
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Written on a plane travelling back to the country where I grew up - I felt very strange, and so does this pieec.
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Standing, staring, face to face at last.
For the first time we’re separate, equals
You’ve morphed out of me like some gruelling exorci..
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