Silence Made of Lead Feels like an omen, a shadow over my bed, speaking with darkness, a silence made of lead. Something’s off kilter, something’s what it may, something feels present, somethings on its way. Doorways with no past, climbing blind stairs, a closet with no clothes, a room with empty chairs. Something’s off kilter, something’s what it may, something feels present, somethings on its way. Walking half-lit streets, my skin pulling tight, from a great distance feeling through the night. Something’s off kilter, something’s what it may, something feels present, somethings on its way.
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