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Fear Our Story

Trying to find the perfect words

Finding the title currently unnamed

To a story that continues to go unwritten

Even the fiction of it becomes so unreal

That it’s reality rings harsher than even the truth

There are no perfect words to bring it back now

What we choose to forget are closed pages we chose not to read

 

Unnamed beauty from the side

They face our backs to us so we only we see their spines

There their names are, so we face them to the back of the shelves

And admire empty pages

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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