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Depleted

If I feel depleted Why should I breathe a name That carves chunks of my heart At night And pending mornings Sticks them With meager liquid That flows In the deep Of the dark side of your Quivering moon…  

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Posted in Invisible stories, Iron Tales, My poems

“Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.” -Iulia Halatz

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