These walls:
Cold,
accusing,
home.
Its
structure
more
familiar to me
than
my own face.
In
them
reflected
echoes
of someone
I
have not known.
The
loneliness here:
normalized.
And
hate - a friend
now
embodied.
Those
words I cursed,
echoed,
into
myself;
ingested,
indigestible.
Then
one concerted movement
and:
empty.
And
this wall
reflects
heat from the sun,
bits of forgiveness,
and
something bold,
unquenchable.
The
other side,
foreign;
Yet
I suspect
echoes
of this voice there
to
carry
the
wind.
-me
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