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Jul 2020
Floorboards carved with poems and littered with moth carcasses

rot under pink light tendrils spilling from the dust spattered windows.

I crouch in the corner and gouge my findings regarding the wondrous color into off-white wallpaper.

Looming pine silhouettes

watch vigilantly.

(Though I suppose that's the perspective on life that got me into this situation... Not enough of us listen to Galileo while he shrieks about the stars swimming.)

Perhaps apathy.

Cherry-blossom twilight mist -
hand of the sky grips my skeletal wrist and
records the history of a pebble

with gnarled fingernails.

So, here's 'The Wallpaper Poem':

If I'm to believe the tales,
the entire mechanism ends with me anyways.
All Feedback Welcome! I hope you enjoy!
Hammond Colson
Written by
Hammond Colson  20/M
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