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Something Only Ceilings Can Hear
Among us, desolate mirrors and an
acknowledging greyness of cloudy haze,
crystal balls we look into and can't decipher,
or rather, choose not to mention now.
This shimmering sawdust, again forgets
how to become human. This soft laugh loses
its sweetness and finds a cheek to lay still.
Think of every soul lost in such moments,
or those of solace, found in sleep, found in
a certainty of impending loneliness.
We all claim to be finished, maybe not.
This mirror, still and waiting to break,
waiting for something, anything, to change.
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