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I don’t like this (trigger CSA) Innocence Lost Poem 1
Bare bottom, cheap seats, scratchy fur, orange, brown Burning, sticky, poking, dry, over-rubbed Cold uncomfortable defeat with a relief it’s over Who were the other faceless people? Hurriedly exiting the disused caravan, The Conductor a teenage boy Who thought he was a man. It feels like a routine Whilst I hold onto hope it was…