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Mar 2018
Crying,
deep, gutteral, gnarled crying,
ugly and cracked,
broken and chaotic,
forced up by my heart [sense of betrayal],
lodges itself in my throat.

Left so unjustly done,
stood up and abandoned,
because it was hung from a rope and left to rot.

For twenty three hours and forty five minutes.

Taunted.

And yet,
it feels

nothing.

My paper heart can feel Nothing at all.
Isobel Webster
Written by
Isobel Webster  Australia
(Australia)   
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