she cries
in her hands.
you see her
irish eyes
between
her fingers.
it's a mask
of sorts.
pink flesh
guarding
the soul
and losing.
she cries
in her hands.
there is little
you can do,
but wait.
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real
experiences in my or anyone else's life. any similarities are purely coincidental, except for the dog poems.
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