Last Words

A metallic film of pain
beneath the skin of my
forehead while my eyes
try to sleep. And I don’t
know what to do with that.
12th November 22.33.
Speak soon. I told her my
reply through tears on the
phone with my bare feet
cold on university oak,
screams of monday or
tuesday everywhere. She
told you on one of the days
you lay there while my friends
worried about their essays
and I got smaller, waiting
by the phone.

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