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Feb 2016
dark room fever, I cannot be
multiple people, none after me
eyes of colors, oiling the ground
sinking an opaque hand, drown
flaked into the drifting breeze
to be breathed all the way out

the charming street lamps screech
fading as distance keeps its reach
silent streets steering clear
of those glassy fallen windows
fore we aren't the only ones
scared of the broken reflection
Braylynn Holt
Written by
Braylynn Holt  Indiana
(Indiana)   
288
     Sjr1000, m i a and Rapunzoll
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