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Nov 2017
Bottle caps and bullet cases surround my feet, the glass beach of failed attempts at evading memories.

For all the things i let you put me through I still don't have the will to blame you.

I wish I could be weak in this moment, let my soul be seen but stuffing it down and shutting everyone out has become routine.

So I'll hang my tattered dolorous soul on the hook by the door. Exchanged for the vestigial smile I wear when reclusiveness isn't pragmatic anymore.

I'll pretend that each day doesn't bring me closer to shattering into a million crystalline pieces of who I was in memory.

And when the day is dead I'll climb back down inside my solace, and shed the burden of this emotional carapace

I'll remove my mask and wash away all the hate and fear from the dour face staring at me from the mirror.

I'll drown my soul and sink to the bottom of this internal sea. Into the world devoid of light, of sound, of memories.
Thomas Halls
Written by
Thomas Halls  32/M/Iowa
(32/M/Iowa)   
287
   Lure Pot
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