Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

empty hauntings

ghosts. air, the shell of a haunted
heart buried in soil, bones of memories rot –
i’m not even that, sometimes i’m merely
a mannequin without so much as a single thought –
nothing worn on my sleeves,
nothing torn or broken to grieve over,
nothing remaining to believe

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: recite

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