January 2012
8 posts
December 2011
9 posts
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November 2011
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October 2011
9 posts
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7 tags
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September 2011
12 posts
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August 2011
15 posts
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Sometimes he was playful and he’d roll a ball - she’d fetch it and she rolled. They’d ball. She’d grin, she’d bear it, closed her eyes and thought of processed peas, the price of cheese, the adverts on T.V. So he squeezed a little harder - ‘til it hurt. And she thought of scars, she thought of burns; a bursting heart and burning hate. There’s always hate....