Dabble in the dark, and close
the door.

Fumbling at buttons, and fall
to floors.

Reaching out for faces;
finding more.

Breathing into spaces; bent, she braces
her core.

Clawing walls for switches, to see
the score.

Counting the stitches she must

It’s not often I write a disclaimer, but here it is. I did not know where this poem was going, and it is not based on any life event I’ve witnessed or been told. Sometimes the words just kinda happen. I was hesitant to post, but it made me more nervous to keep it hidden.


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