One umbrella over two.
She held my hand while I was blue.
Her small hands and delicate fingers
Left a warm, gentle scent that lingers.
She told me, "Sister, you'll be alright
Because you'll have the moon tonight."
Desolate town,
Dusty home.
She stands alone.
Ravaged in undead skin.
Is this a game? Is this a chore?
She holds the vacuum.
The past is her present
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