lucy elms


Why do these crystal pristine shapes flow from the centre of numbness?
Why does the hollow heart that is mine, not weep the same?
Perhaps the emotional side is not quick to tail, but rather holding back for an overload.
Falling down, falling down, and hitting the floor with a soft whisper.
The time itself seems to slow as the liquid falls freely through the brisk air, a giant clock ticking in an unrequited manner; filling it with an echoing pattern of tocks and ticks.
No one knows the

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