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The process of forgetting

Your ribs, crafted like crooked bars of a bird’s cage,
Hoard the impatient beat of a weak heart.
You are perched perfectly, parched
‘Cause you haven’t had a sip of life
Slipping over your tongue in a
Monotonous amount of months.
You sing,
“Life don’t taste so great anyway,”
But maybe that’s because you have forgotten.
Forgotten the feeling of a lover’s breath on your throat.
Forgotten the diamond droplets of dew underneath you.
Forgotten how to sing like you used to.





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