These Slivers - Poem by Rose McCraven
Am I morbid? The definition of isolation?
Will I, in a nights dream, live up to their expectations?
These slivers inside, hit the bone so deep.
Their secrets that lie, grounded, unable to speak.
I am the lost, the rough sketch on a page.
This chapter is gone, lost to the past decades.
I will hold my head high, for the feeling inside.
Whispers for something more...For something more...
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