Untitled
Black cars parked along the street,
an empty swing moving back and forth,
the grass turning brown, curling at the tips.
Street lights flicker on in the gray drizzle,
homes turn warm and welcoming,
but not that house.
Rooms brighten up so people can see,
quiet conversations fill the air,
but it’s still empty.
That one room is still dark,
clothes on the floor crumpled and dirty,
a book lays open waiting to be finished
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