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In the silence of
my grey home
I string a necklace
with black beads
on a thread while
I await the dark
hand of fate. I
practice being dead,
imagine the abyss
that swallows dreams
as I feel caged upon
a shelf. In the lifeless
rooms of my rented
life unwelcome
messages from visitors
are left with me, each
one wet with the tears
from a star. Lost inside
a cocoon without any
wings, I punch a hole
through my window.
Nothing but an angry
dawn glaring at me.
