All I can hear is the sound of
rushing blood.
Half my stomach pulled away,
Winding distractions from this pain.

Sleeping wouldn’t be so hard
if my brain would just shut off,
stopping on some pretty point
of view.

It is unreal, this expectation
held against my head, where
hair dare not grow because it’s
waiting to be loved.

Take this building in my breast,
the kind of thoughts
my mind will conjure when we
don’t speak.
Take them from me.

It wasn’t that I shut a door, but
at some point I stopped knocking.
I am tired of abusing
hope to keep from getting hurt.

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