a water spill in the shape of a heron

there is
a hopelessness
that slithers
about the pit
of roiling cold
tentacles gripping
every shallow breath
as sorrow throttles
a faltering
heartbeat into a
soulful dirge
as you sit
wondering why
you’re never
quite enough
an afterimage
in pixelated dismay
a blurry orb
where a person
should be
occupying the space
between sighs
shriveling up into
a shuddering ball
as the only thing
holding you tight
is fucking silence

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