Hear echoes of screams, hopeless sighs,

excruciating moans, drops of tearied eyes.

They’re in the walls. They’re in the floor.

They’re in the ceiling. They’re in the door

to her memory’s residual energy antenna.

And all these years, she saw not the dilemma

of living to die while dying to live,

always in-between pushing to give

a damn about herself amidst

the struggle and chaos to subsist.

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Dead Souls (To Mother)

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