She doesn't remember how she got here, crouched in the dark in the far back of the closet. Hunched over white, unbroken skin. A quick image of red, thick dark burgundy, running weeping trails down the path of her arm. Then back again, smooth and pale and untouched
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Comments 9
Are quartz broken as a crescent moon
You alone fill them with light
I am forever waiting for you
Here in the rain
Very touching.
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Wonderfully written.
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