I caught you yelling
from the upstairs window
three or four times
before you filled your mouth
with an apple and called it a day.
I pointed at the moon to show you
what quiet really sounds like.
The weather blew in
to my angry lungs
and filled them with frost.
This must be what it feels like
to not trust your own organs,
to go out playing your
one moaning song.
yes. i liked the first three stanzas of this quite a bit.
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