THERE IS a stranger in her bed,
She feels it in the faulty dark;
How came she now to be this way,
When better choices 'round her lay,
When better choices lay?
THE BREATHING strange and scent unknown,
The atom, molecule, or quark
Of something other, someone else;
Yet all alone is where she is,
Yet all alone she is.
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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