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The Ballad of No One in Particular This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

Hanna H., Houston, TX By HannaHarris, Houston, TX

When I asked him,
my fingers still tasting like tobacco
As I bit them until they bled,
How bad are you?
He simply replied, “I don't know
My own phone number right now.”

He has bruises on his arms
in the shape of crescent moons and
Deep cuts on his face from where
The shaving cream didn't cover

He carries something you can't see
Like nails through his back up his spine
He sings Simon and Garfunkel as I
fall asleep
And it sounds like a “thank you” covered in
Red lipstick stains

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