imagining things i might say,
what i might write
if i wanted life
to go a certain way.
to manipulate
the cards
that have been dealt.
trick fate.
i could
rant and rave, to get things
of my chest,
out of my mind,
to try and save
what's been lost.
but i don't write a single
sentence,
not a word.
not a phrase.
silence and the purity
of white
will remain upon this
cotton cloth.
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