Cursed by displacement

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
What would one's heart feel if it could be torn limb from limb? Probably the same thing as when it is torn from another that it beat with for so long...

Submitted: December 15, 2007

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Submitted: December 15, 2007

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Food turns to ash within my mouth
When I eat without you.
The maidens upon which I gaze
Cannot stir me at all.
The songs and music which I hear
Are melancholy or tuneless.
Every garment of silk in my fingers
Is steel wool rubbing them raw.
Whenever I smell a scent like ours
I remember- brimstone is preferable.
At least that Hell is finite,
At least my cries are echoed-
I am not the lone parishioner
Covered in burning chains
Something broke that night,
Not kicking and clawing and screaming,
Just falling asleep, into a coma.
Between place, neither living nor dead.


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