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Tell Me
September 15, 2012
Your essence is splattered over my walls;
Your promises
are buried somewhere beneath the lies
and my pillows
still smell like you.
Cheap
and bitter.
I've washed them what seems like a thousand times
and yet your scent still clings-
like static to my clothes.
Tell me.
Can you still taste my tongue on yours?
Or does hers still linger from when you left my bed for hers.
© Erin H., Carrollton, TX
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