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Emma
Poems
Jan 21
Breakfast
Pastel hoops swirl, a hollowed refrain,
Milk pools cold, a quiet stain.
Laughter lingers, ghosts in the air,
I reach, but they’re no longer there.
Black wings flicker, hunger’s sigh,
But control whispers: "Let it die."
At this table, time unfolds,
An empty heart, a story untold.
Written by
Emma
F/Malta
(F/Malta)
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155
badwords
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Wyatt
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Temporal Fugue
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