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Anxiety Creative Writing PTSD Siblings abused The People Behind My Eyes

Letting Her Go

I’ve sworn off photos but I stare at the ones burned in my mind
as if they will come alive
and hand feed me spoonfuls of hope and blind desire
for you to see the tiny light in my eyes that beckons your heart.
Let me penetrate.
Let me enchant the strings of your million man orchestra
and play long for the faceless, for the strays.
Then let me know what it means to soldier on
and what it means to let you die in me.
Let me go.

Robert

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