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10 Stepsister Wild girl of my nightmare, the smell of morning patio after all night wrestling bear-sized infrequencies with no cigarettes is what you are. My concrete boots, my wet tomb. Regret is my new mode. Princess, if you had loved me, I wouldn’t have co-opted your shadow as mine. I cleaned you with sand and daylight to keep you from fretful and sullen. In the world for a long time, we were each other’s sugar dose and marked the night with static blips to pretend at sisterly fidelity. I am still that fond lament. ...

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