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By Derek Lumagui

Bedroom curtains closed, door locked,

Sitting on the bed with my back against the wall.

I gaze at the opposite wall before me,

It's painted decor so empty in comparison

To the thoughts flying across its surface.

The pastel green foreground and the hazy yellow background

Forced a darker shade, the day slipping into night.

The sun is out; it’s three in the afternoon,

But no brightness reaches me as I think of what she said.

The blackness of my curtain-drawn room consumes me,

Alone and aching, stupid and stuck, loved and lost.

Even with the warm sun outside my cold room, my mind is black as night.


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