Attatchment
you've grown
within your own soul
hidden beneath
the tiny beating
that's still there
yet unfamiliar
trying not to
give into soft lips
hands
warmth of skin against skin
afraid that
if you become
attached
or are involved with any attatchment
you'd mind as well
rip out the last
violin orchestra
of your slowly
fading
heart
Copyright © L. B. Warner | Year Posted 2011
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