what was left

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it would be nice
to look at smiling photos
and see myself
to feel nothing
and then wanting to feel everything
listen to you without hearing you
looking at you without feeling
lost
in the tears that taste like nothing
and sighs that taste like tasteless anger
and glssses that taste like everything.
if you stayed here I could take you
get what you say
without losing myself in the space in my skull
where the echo of words makes them crumble
too quickly
i lose what was left.

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