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Nov 2014
Her bones were brittle, her hips
fresh cracked plastic.
Her hair was gray
lackluster straw.

Her sweatshirt was too large, her stomach too small.
Her pain overwhelming, her resolve a mask.

He lay near.

She sat in a wood chair
at the kitchen table;
where she'd been
for days.

She lowered her arm gently, and beckoned,
"Come back."
Her plate was empty- her glass too.

His plate was empty- his glass too.
He lay away, as tired as she.
His eyes found hers
in hungry confusion.

"Please," begged her nature.
Hollowed, that was all that remained.
"I'm sorry."

He did not know.

He looked to her, his first, his last,
his only- perked ears and a dry moan.
He sighed and closed his eyes.

She chose to close hers too,
"Goodbye," she hurt.
Written by
Steven Fried
     ---, Regine Santos, W L Winter, Creep, Ciske and 2 others
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