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What's Left

By , Woodstock, GA
confessions I only dare whisper to the ceiling,

images that remain in the midst of a shallow

breathing.

a hushed lullaby of violins,

is a fake tap at my window, reminding me

that for you there is no silence.

but my mind has not, curtains to throw back,

sunlight to shoot in, through my ears

perhaps. I have hollowness and you,

blackness and an echo.





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