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Rayna Trinny May 2014
Almost whistling,
The sound of rain hitting cars.
Every car is yours to me.
Heart sinks,
Deeper, longer, heavier.
Triumphant depression dragging
through glass.
Perfectly imperfect regret and
it's lingering;
never changing.
Irrefutably stuck in a whirlwind of panic.
Anxiety stretches and covers the calm.

— The End —