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Sep 2019
Your ghost lives in each footprint
caressing only the memories
of the soles of our feet.
Your scarred hands condemned
to forever gather the salt
from the oceans of tears
that failed to find homes on our cheeks.
Counting every grain,
you won't find substance
in a forlorn dream.
Only sorrow in futility
commitment to the never-ending game.
Written in September 2019.
HearseTraffic
Written by
HearseTraffic  26/M
(26/M)   
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