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Saturday, August 29, 2009 Y 8:13 AM She stares out from glass walls with crushed lavender in her mouth and diamond tears collecting in the corners of her eyes like rain [she spends her nights like this] crying in the absence of his arms with only broken pencil tips and fragile origami stars that she crushes between her fingertips I hate the storms. she says, curling into the air like smoke so wispy that he'd all-but pushed her away. please. she begs, but she's drowned out by the thunder and he doesn't hear her empty voice. terrified, but curious she gathers herself in blankets, matted teddy-bears, and the scent of his cologne and she roots herself in front of glass thoughts like the flowers in her window box the sky illuminates in black and blue like bruises and she can feel the rumble in her breastplate like an avalanche from her clavicle peaks down into her ribcage valleys and many times, I mistake her for myself when I see her sitting there still. and she is my rainwater wallflower soaking up the storm as it washes her away
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