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Inanimate

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Maybe it’s not enough to be alive
she has to feel it.
as she walks her bones yearn for resurrection
and as she talks her soul starves for definition

No one can see it, or so she believes
It takes a stranger to understand the empty thoughts-
provoked by the drugs and the drugs by the pain.
Blank eyes pass by the city.

To him she’s an open book,
just as inviting and inanimate.





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