Fresh Nightmares

A cold sweat remembers
the fresh nightmare,
Visions lined up in white

punctuated by black cries,
Brick red smears
on faint parchment

marked with blood red
betrayals, clear tears
unable to wash away

the pain.
Each night I hear those
fearful sobs,

Voice marked and breaking
behind the soft brown
that I loved so.

“I hope I’d do the same
for you,” she said,
struggling to smile.

No, you won’t.
There’s no need.

leningrad factory

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