November 17, 2010
I wish it will end
And bury my head
In the hypoallergenic pillow
She bought me when my old one made me sneeze until I couldn’t see
But know the sound will bend
To my armor’s shape,
Penetrate the downy walls

And the pillowcase with thirty-two pink flamingos on it (I counted)
And infiltrate my prayers
To boom a hollow echo
With every accusation.
I close my eyes and wait
For reconciliation.

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