Silverfish gnaw tunnels of past
through lavender shrouds
where your name pulsed
and my pulse stopped.
Frass falls like hail
in the attic of self‑respect,
touched by neglect.
dustpan heaps with smiles
and the zero bulb stutters
its dying thought.
scuttling me to where
the dungeon of pests opens.
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: February 21st, 2026 04:47
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett

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