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A reclusive girl, in a red dress, sitting alone on a lone rock in the middle of a river, in the early morning

Everything’s already been said. There’s nothing left to say. Everything’s been heard and read. There’s nothing left today.

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A close-up photo of the right side of the front of a redheaded caucasian woman's face with her eye closed, blinking.

An hour lasts forever. A lifetime’s just a blink. The time it takes to get there is never what you think.

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A photograph with cool tones, in which a woman stands in the water of a gulf as small waves roll into shore. The sky is cloudy and the moon is enlarged to emphasize the calming mood contained in the image.

The tides draw me
relentlessly,
toward the distant shore.

As the moon moves
effortlessly,
high above the waters.

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A small, pink flower grows up between the unfinished, wood planks of a home deck.

I flay myself
on the altar of art,
cut down to the bone,
break every last part.

I write it on paper,
type it into my phone,
share it with the world,
and feel utterly alone.

[continue]. . .