RUBBLE
RUBBLE
 loss stories
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smote man bites poetry.
Autoplay OFF   •   6 months ago
What we leave in our wake.

RUBBLE

Mind the rubble. It has piled a hedge between us. Too high now to see. You. Me. I have said things I cannot unsay. Thoughts. Strayed. Betrayed myself. For where I ended you began, and despite it I did bite my hand.

What hand will feed me now? Who will push me on? Mind the rubble. Though it is a hedge between us. To hear your footsteps on the other side, is more than any do - to keep me here. Alive.

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