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Aug 2016
someday
will you walk into
my room
lie on my bed and
stare at the ceiling i stare at
every night

smell the
mishmash of
stale perfumes
on my clothing

play my guitars
read my books
touch my walls
clutch the afghans
i made in your
tight fists

and
cry?

or will you think
that somebody
made a mistake
and that mistake
wasn't me
leaving
but was you
staying?
Copyright 5/14/16 by B. E. McComb
b e mccomb
Written by
b e mccomb  22/F/finally home
(22/F/finally home)   
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