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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #2001334
You say her name, and she comes to your voice
Standing in front of the mirror
Air fills my lungs as my hands quiver
Flickering orange fills the small room
As jasmine lofts into the air

Cold and smooth
My fingers grip tightly around the wax
In a whisper I call to her thrice
With a jagged exhale darkness engulfs the room

Feverishly my eyes scramble to focus
Searching for her face in the blackness
Rhythmic drops of water escape the metal faucet
Her talons lash out towards me
As my heart explodes from chest
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/2001334-Woman-Scorned