There is no final notice or friendly reminder when people are meant to leave us. They are taken. Without apology or remorse.
Pass It
In my mind we're sharing this cigarette while passing it hand to hand... But then I remember that you're not really here... And it falls right into the sand.
Dew Blossoms
White
Bee
Crisp
Lunch
The anxiety I can't place penetrates my stomach in uneasy twists... Subsequently churning, knotting, and rioting against my acidified lunch.
White Butterfly
Moss
AO Poetry 
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