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The fire is lit
old folks sit around it in folding chairs
They give away memories bit by bit
feeding the smile each of them wears.
Lamps soften the night
and shadows sleep at the foot of their master.
The old men laugh, eyes shining bright
create the sound of the hum of the chatter.
The women are getting tired
they inhale the apple pie scent
that crosses the kitchen like a horse unbridled
to pay them a compliment.
Cinnamon smell fills my shell,
a balloon stretched too tight.
The old people leave and I wish them well.
I take one warm apple pie bite.
Water from the kitchen sink steams of crumbs
and my fork skitters screeching across the plate.
My eyelids are too heavy, I let the water run.
This girl sized husk is an empty state.
Mind blank, heart blank, what I had the night took
I slide into bed
thinner than a sheet of paper tucked in a book.
Empty thoughts sketched in my head.