mornings

i am still dreaming
and my brain is
oozing out of my skull
at a point between my
eyes, and onto
the desk.
he left this behind
and all I can do is hold it
while I sleep
and breathe in
the scent of detergent
not my own.
can a sentiment last
a lifetime? i can
only whisper these
things to what scrap
i hold in my arms.
why have
i been so beaten down
that i am afraid
to stand taller than the pines?

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