Thirteen.

I had tried to break the silence –
shattering all mirrors of yesterday,
while singing viciously over the future.
Too lost in stale vodka and sonnets,
that I once sung but now carry her
voice, I presume for you to notice.

I dare say, she sings much grander
than I – but I wonder what she’s saying
in the silence that makes your heart come
alive, like it did with me? Or doesn’t she
tease and evoke; make you quiver in that way?
Only silence, I presume – what a pity.

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