Carly Teevers


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Best Poem of Carly Teevers

Hate Promise

If the sweet dew on the hillside,
were to turn to lemon juice,
And the bow on your wrist,
to a ribbon of blood.
I assure you my dear,
I would cup the sour acid in my hands,
and let it scorch your wounds.

Read the full of Hate Promise

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