47

I can feel distance
Slipping into the spaces
Of my empty ribcage.
With every breath
I seem to tingle,
A new memory arises
And then, soon after, it goes.
There are photo frames I have left,
Blank, as blank as the faces
I once knew.
And of course, there is pain!
A pain I fight with and cannot contain.
As I walk,
Through these white walls,
I feel no attachment to their strength.
Though I may become erased,
Or my face may change with age;
Know this, I am not to blame.

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