The first gasp for air,
it wasn’t you holding me
as we danced under stars
It was my heart
under attack.
The sweet coppery blood
that pooled on my tongue
as I cried out in pain
so only the
dead could hear.
Lofty platitudes or was it elevated truisms? Did it matter? Strip away all the familiar tunes. What’s left? It’s the same old song and da...
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