The door slams shut, a final, hollow sound, The dust motes dance where laughter used to be. A landscape scarred, but no longer bound To shadows that once clung too close to me. I turn my back, a ragged, tearing breath, And step into a sun I've feared too long. This silent ending, this sweet, stark death, The prelude to a bold and brand new song.
poem
The door slams shut, a final,…
1 min read
The door slams shut, a final, hollow sound, — The dust motes dance where laughter used to be.
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