poetryonwordpress
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Face down, on my bed, with no comfort but the gust of wind from my ceiling fan,the hurt reminds me thatmy greatest friendsare the tearsrunning marathonsdown my face — until your handsrest upon my back;skin on skin, this paingrows thinand I come backinto my heartas the gentle in your handswash the sadness clinging to my skin;oh how you are my sweetestutopian dream.…