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Qumran
January 22, 2018
The mockingbird laughs at me and keeps my keys in its soft beige talons; singing its song. It seems that he’s always been there--across from me. I throw blankets and cloth over him, to seize what’s never really been mine, but my aim is always off.
© Gianna V., Sewell, NJ
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It's a metaphor for my depression