Unable to Hang On

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Language of Things

A stained box with cheap hinges
and a broken latch
coming unglued from reckless use
has fallen from my tired grasp

Tumbling over stained carpet
the lid breaks into several parts
pouring tears into our dreams
as liebestod stops ours hearts

Do you not see?
Don’t you feel it?

In your tears
I drown
In your voice
I melt away

This is how awful goodness is.

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