Til Death

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 17, 2018

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Submitted: July 17, 2018

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We were having breakfast for dinner for the third time this week You are bored with it and bored with me I can tell but I chatter nervously Your eyes close and you rub your temples A silence suddenly falls as you stand up I sit alone at the table You didn't touch your food and tears slide down my face I am bored with it and bored with you You can tell but you don't care


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