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I went to the door,
expecting locks,
but it was open anyway.
I shivered and by bones--
they fell to pieces
but you collected them
and reconstructed me
I'll never quite understand
how you manage it each time;
your reasons why, either
but you built and mended,
stuck me back together
with saliva and paper scraps,
filled my bones with sand
so I could stand again.
My shaking hands and knocking knees
still persisted
so you held my head and fed me time
(it tasted of sweet and bitter reverie)
despite your efforts,
I remained malnourished
and empty,
my eyes glazed and pleading for your answer.
I reached up to touch your heart
but found it hard, cold, and metallic.
I knew the locks existed somewhere.
so I disintegrated before you
and fell through the empty spaces
of your hands.





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