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Christmas Eyes

Eyes glassy to the medication messy are the red on wrists I hate those grey heavy doors They carry only misery lore of the souls lost to hospitals And the final breathes A child make wishes. A youth afraid ceases of breathing would suddenly stop one day, with my autism child therapist now I hope it occurs every-day. Slowly a letter in an envelope With words reduced to less than I.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Date: 6/14/2025 4:22:00 AM
• Deep •Painful
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Geoffrey-Hayward Avatar
Ryan Geoffrey-Hayward
Date: 6/14/2025 4:32:00 AM
Thank-you, I appreciate it.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things