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bright, hopeless morning

I play a broken piano in an abandoned house. I play piano while my hair falls out. And my gums bleed. I hide my breath behind the wall. There are no more letters to write. No one walks out of the sun. I play piano. While dust shades the windows. My life curls around illness. I drape a white sheet over the telephone. I pour another glass of isolation fluid. I can't remember the sound of my own voice. So I play the broken piano and I sing. My eyes water, and I sing. My lungs bleed, and I sing. I serenade the dust, the bacteria. I serenade the ever-expanding emptiness that has captured my life and quietly kills me day after day, year after year.

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