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 Aug 2017 TM
Poppy Johnson
you’re just a pair of hands.
old now, but soft; gently creased
with nails stained
by the cigarettes that are killing you.


you smelt like smoke.
you wore your past lives around you
like a coat.
like your beauty, they lingered out of reach.


you beautiful bag of bones.
at least your eyes glisten. at least
they look like stars.
like a child, you still believe in magic.


i can see you fading.
burning out. you’ve got nothing left
to see here.
your eyes close as the sun explodes.

— The End —