Lonely Shame
J
James McLain
0
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Before my hand strikes the door.
I don't know my mind, Please stop!
Short knuckles white, light flashed.
She will hear me scream, or worse.
My door stopper, is clinched
inside the suns mouth, I run,
Bare, friendly, sharp, thorn ed soft
branches grasp me, as lost lover.
Overcome by tremors, blanched
fear, to lay choking on a raw tongue.
My last hope of salvation, is rejected.
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