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Sep 2016
break the surface just to breathe
choking on mere fragments of static in
a heavy, fuzzy, humid room dancing with smoke
no mirrors, only ghosts
whispering a thought
until the thought makes me choke
wispy fingers clench tighter
forgetting how to breath for hours
how do I tell you that you've made me cry when the door creaks open and I can't remember how to tell you anything at all?
as if the room was always filled with your scent
something that's unnameable and a button-up shirt
fresh out of the dryer
I fail to find the words to say
you **** me with your waiting game
Written by
   Connor Ruther
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