abstract 3

By Kelsey Bryan-Zwick

was half
of happiness
you said it would
have been
enough

there were shadows
cast across your face
too dark for me to name

a sadness that sunk
like pockets
with bricks
in your fists

the cup you had
to drink from
always dried up
and empty

the light offered
like defective ozone
burns at what
has grown soft
yellow bruised
over purple

a puddle
to step into

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