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.
I miss those mornings where the house was loud and alive. The chattering of my children; the arguing, the laughing, the hurriedness of tryin...
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