Turning over to empty spaces in a cold room.
Memory, like a cruel trick;
Plays scenes and sounds off these dark, empty walls.
The shadows of dreams dance to a song
That no one quite remembers.
But of course, dreams require sleep.
Shadows, only the pockets hidden from light.
Fingering lengths and wondering,
How much do we value life?
Weathered hands shaking, trembling.
Not ready to catch another fall.
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