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Pass the day watching raindrops

run along the windowsill,

guessing when they’ll be heavy enough

to fall.

Pass the day waiting

for someone else to find you here

with soft enough flesh to absorb the sound

of your lungs demanding air.

Please hurry

or soon the echoes will build and roar

and violently smash what’s left of worth

between the walls of this cold house.

Or you could

just let in ghosts to chase them out;

they’ve been waiting outside for weeks.

They’ll glare from the corners

and start to rot the floorboards,

but they’ll fill all the empty space.

And you know that flesh

would need to be fed

with words.

Just hope that next time

you get too scared to breathe

your lungs will give up too.


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