beautiful dolls in slips of faded skin. wear their stories softly against the sting of loss. 

time bites down hard. but the wound is left to bleed. 

the fragile corners find their coins. as we sell ourselves too cheaply. 

earnest hounds on broken leashes. intoxicated by the scent of lies. 

chase the zippers on stubborn ghosts. 

touch is a cliff. we jump. we soar. we hope to be caught.

sometimes we are. but more often we fall. 

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