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The Editor
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Who entered the door? When I had the key? I remember forgetting Hands passing right through me, Over my skin and closed throat I was diminished of my own accord The smell akin to fear, rotting leaves Blow in through an open window, The house was rotting The lights stayed on while we slept, A strange film like wax hung over me In the collapse of the wreckage, How little I understood Like a black-and-white photograph In the bloody aftermath, You are gone Key marks scratch the door jamb The paper lamp sweeps the remains Of what was obvious and what was lost Night seeps through the window As a warning in this bloody holocaust, The final maelstrom covers the cursed night Morning never arrives peacefully from the final fight With soft red flesh as red soup again and again Your cold eye stares at me through paper skin, You died so young, oh so young Why did I deserve to live? My guilty confession unuttered? I was always the invisible one Walking like a spirit amongst others They
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