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Abby
Poems
Apr 2020
Solitaire
Cold feet in the lamplight,
wooden floor, cat prints.
Cola stained teeth scrape
to the bottom of the gin glass.
The taste of alcohol is too sickly.
Creature of the night,
blankets, locks on the door.
Crumbs on a plate start
to look like the content faces of
people who are never lonely.
Written by
Abby
23/Non-binary/United Kingdom
(23/Non-binary/United Kingdom)
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