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Fiddlehead

Poem You

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Talk to your ghost.
Sleep with your clothes.
I’ll take whatever’s left
In the waste of you death.

But in case you come I left the light on
Bright enough to see from stars
Find me in the bedroom corner
Writing verses of shattered hearts

To ease missing you,
And the stinging too,
Of seeing blue poem you

Come home, lights on,
Cause I’m missing you,
And it’s stinging too
To see a blue poem you

Come home, the lights on

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