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a song plays it taps my shoulder with it's slow sadness my spine curls like old wallpaper in a house I knew with eyes closed it rings like a phone like hearing your own name I answer the call memories flood and it smells like dust like a photo album you only recognize and do not remember the books you hold your mother's voice as you tun the worn pages like she's still reading to you it feels like sidewalk chalk and walking home home the word is a hot stove I try not to touch anymore it just burns I never learn I open the door evoking melancholy just to see blurry faces to hear my younger self laugh about things like funny faces and late bedtimes the smoke alarms ring out the song ends but the burn lingers and stings throughout the day I'm sitting on wet tile water dripping from my hair in darkness under warm water the pressure beats my skin like the rain it echoes in my hollow head like drums do and my mind is numb empty like a house we moved out of like a home I never understood like a stove left on burning it down every time I listen to that song
0
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
heavy
a song plays it taps my shoulder with it's slow sadness my spine curls like old wallpaper in a house I knew with eyes closed it rings like a phone like hearing your own name I answer the call memories flood and it smells like dust like a photo album you only recognize and do not remember the books you hold your mother's voice as you tun the worn pages like she's still reading to you it feels like sidewalk chalk and walking home home the word is a hot stove I try not to touch anymore it just burns I never learn I open the door evoking melancholy just to see blurry faces to hear my younger self laugh about things like funny faces and late bedtimes the smoke alarms ring out the song ends but the burn lingers and stings throughout the day I'm sitting on wet tile water dripping from my hair in darkness under warm water the pressure beats my skin like the rain it echoes in my hollow head like drums do and my mind is numb empty like a house we moved out of like a home I never understood like a stove left on burning it down every time I listen to that song
grace-anne-kennard
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Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 4:01 AM UTC
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