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Dec 2019
"We three, we're all alone,
   [...] living in a memory,
   [...] my echo, my shadow and me."


Over in the corner
are your books,
stacked into the wall.
I like to be the mourner,
it seems. Long looks
at your bric-a-brac, at all
the things you left.
The night is perfectly cleft
into darkness and silence.

What else can I do,
but poison myself
with sentiment?
Evan Stephens
Written by
Evan Stephens  44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)   
89
   Ece Ozkan
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