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Pattern: 53(1237

Pattern: 53(1237

There were words
between you and I
that we didn't say;
that ached internal.

I knew that
we couldn't be born.
It swallowed us.

The final day
was sour and silent.
You didn't acknowledge me
nor I, you.

The half-curled smiles
left me septic; sectioned,
strumming my nerves.

"Please, don't go."
There was a shot
at a person, whole.
"Please, make do."
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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