Sleep crusted eyes
creak open heavily
staring into the
oil filled room.
There is a poster
of a girl
her mahogany eyes of
still water.
And she's holding a puppy,
his fur a dead dandelion
waiting to scrape along
the breeze
and land in a sea
of forgotten busted bones,
dirt smudges, and bruises
from colliding with that
concrete of bark in the
backyard.
Her skin reflects
graveyard soil
and dust mists
across her tongue
sinking into
remnants of crumbled
piles of abused leaves.
Her clothes are rivers
of white laundry and
Poppies
screaming for the
touch of a hoe
to slice them into
grains of rice.
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