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Red is my favorite color, red like your mothers eyes after awhile of crying about how you dont love her. She says I know I dont deserve supervised sight of her, but each day becomes a blur without my daughter. Fall is my favorite season, like falling to reasoning why you crashed from on high. She says Why is my life so uneven, and what have I done right but given you your life if after I led you on into that bar room? Yes is my favorite answer. I took a dancer home, she felt so alone. We stayed up all night in the kitchen doing my dishes, on and on until the dawn. She said I know its easy to have me, but I have seen some things that I cant even tell to my family pictures, and Im full of fictions and fking addictions and I miss my mother. Shell never know I could never forget her. If I could write her a letter, Id try with every line to say She still remembers your touch. And I know that its not much, but you still havent lost

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