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Jul 2018
It's not sadness
or hate,
resentment,
or regret.

It's empty;
closing your
hand around
something gone.

Empty doesn't
have a remedy;
everything falls
but doesn't land.

A migrane
whose temples
you can even
rub in futility.

Pain in phantom,
sourced from
a limb severed
out of foolishness.
Jared San Miguel
Written by
Jared San Miguel  30
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