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Timothy Brown
Poems
Jun 2013
Hinge
Every door in this place creaks,
shattering the silence of the empty echoing
of faucet leaks.
Drips are part of the company I keep.
Along with drops, smoke trails and static details.
Fuzzy sounds penetrate the hell I face while asleep.
© June 6th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
Written by
Timothy Brown
27/M/America
(27/M/America)
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