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Jan 2010
he never brings me flowers
only symphonies of the moment
they speak of delicate voids
and the darkness of the season
he brings it close to my ear
and doesn't smile
the sounds drip slowly
like blood
they cut through each *****
the notes pierce through
my bloodstream
until it all falls out of me
and gathers in a pool
at my feet

i dont ask him why
i don't ask him why
because he doesn't know why
he looks and blinks
but he doesn't say why

he leaves through the back door
and walks down the driveway
i go to the sink
and i wash my hands
but the blood stains
Written by
virginia ilda baker
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