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Sep 2015
Where is the poem,
the one I culdn't feel?
Escaped, like a flock of gulls
when all that's left is shells.
The mussels gone
or rotted
by heavy salty air;
exposed like a heart
to a fisherman
who never eats his catch
but hasn't the sense
to toss it in the water.
I am a shell,
with nothing succulent
to share.
Do you know the feeling?
Listen to Empty Shell, poem by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
Amy H
Written by
Amy H  45/F/United States of Abandon
(45/F/United States of Abandon)   
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