{one hundred days} day 12

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grit wanders
into lines and folds
of skin worn on white bones
polished glass
black hair
and faded green eyes
torn fingernails
from scratching at the surface
looking backwards
for life

somewhere the heart pedals
around corners and empty rooms
somewhere the heart flies
through treetops and budding leaves
somewhere the heart lives
untouched and mended

just not here

scrawled on walls
fragmented poems
words tipped from the ink
and dripping
do you notice the mirror as you slide by?
voices echo in absence and shadows
do you notice

body moves grit
life enters open wounds, forgotten
grace
however fleeting
until

no words or dreams
unearthed
reburied
woven into roots and debris
nothing remains

~

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