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Writer's pictureRonnie Hill

Sadness speaks through eyes

With your head rested in my palm

I hear your brain box ticking

The subtle eye movements and lip gestures tell me you’re in deep thought

When thinking if someone is thinking about you, you enter a trance

You hold a mirror to yourself and question all

It hangs back

And evolves

I’m wound around your finger

I’m pressed under your thumb

What if I was to stay here

With no one in between

You shouldn’t feed these things

Whilst fading away by night

Whilst staring at the ceiling

The sky fucks you

tears dry your face

What pictures are painted

When you hear my name

A ripple in a puddle

An echo in a hall

A memory of someone else

That’s reflected through the blood that drops from my nose onto the edge of my toilet sink

Then onto my left foot

Joy etched in skin

Sadness speaks through your eyes,

And I almost died in your lap today.

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