first draft

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If good thoughts are like clouds, Then what about the bad— The ones that slip into your mind When you least expect it?   Is it thick black ink That permeates your brain? A slime that festers 
I want to forget the way your words became teeth, Sharp, gnashing, unforgiving. You talk ‘pretty’ now. Your canines ground down and polished,
Thunderstorm in the attic: Nonsensical.   There is a storm in my home. She rips through my hall, growling. The ‘patter’ of rain begins to pummel my oak floor.
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