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untitled
March 23, 2015
It is box,
It is a locked box.
It holds no secrets
It holds a hollow heart.
The heart has no arteries
It looks like a living valentine,
There is a ribbon tied round its beating breast.
The box is locked,
Its sides are made of bone.
I walk a mile every day,
My veins are empty yet I live,
Forever dead.
© Molly L., Bethesda, MD
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