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by
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Hidden Glade
Poems
Apr 2019
the hunger that isn-t there.
Burdening weight slung across
a frame
Once-full corpses
now lay empty;
and hungry.
Often they make their way,
their way to the table-
but naught is moved,
other than tired eyes.
the living worry
while the dead thrive on neglect.
pushing their way out of shallow graves
only to balance [carefully] on the edge
when they fell;
the dead;
caught in a spider-s nest
cocooned withering and safe.
Written by
Hidden Glade
24/Non-binary/Wherever You Will Go
(24/Non-binary/Wherever You Will Go)
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Fawn
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