Bakers White with Flour

tin hats

She is gone now into the shadowlands of my tearful breakdown and I follow encased in a poor recollection, one of denial and regret.  I will see her at play and in the way she held her hands just so around her face.  Pirates sailed across her wake and the water rose through our house floating the pots and pans into the neighbor’s hands.  Oh, I can hear the other kids chasing down her name.  We are all the same in those dark halls, where mirrors abound, yet I know not what to do and I feel so alone, so ashamed.  I never protected her from the demons in the sand, the ones squeezing her form and I  left her there in the room somewhere circling a distant star, like a million pieces of a shattered, cold moon.  Please deliver me if you can.  Take me as a spirit, a…

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