| Home: Poetry: Ivy McKnight: Fantasies |
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She was not looking at me anymore, staring out into space like that, and I knew wherever she was, I would never know her there. She was quite small in the shadow, of what she used to be, and maybe I understood a bit, why she wished to leave me here, because I wasn’t something, make-believe. And the wind was washing away, what used to make her talk to me, she’s talking to herself now, her lips are parted so that when I, maybe I will look inside her, and maybe I will see what is wrong. Her mouth is open wider now, and maybe she wants me to see, so when I peer inside, when I see what she wanted me to, when I see the blackness of night, and death, I seem to think I understand, and now I know where I am again. |
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