silent conversations and blind glances
for the strangers in a room
the souls of the deceased flutter about;
excited tones and choking embraces
love is a forgotten term
red only refers to blood now
hearts only meant to circulate
a flawed monotonous routine
trapped by our own fragile self esteems
stand beside the grave and hear the clawing and the shrieking
don’t let them out, don’t let them out
defunct bodies glazed with sugary wrinkles
the pretentious souls crave help
alone now, no one to see
solitude, my best friend writes a poem for me.

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