Holes

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Your niceties

Match mine

They’re not yours

As mine are not owned by me

Hanging on your fathers wall are glass memories

They’re so fragile, as are his beliefs in you

And your belief in me

Sits wanting behind the mirror

Yet those holes

Not recognised but undeniable

Those holes to bathe burnt toes

Offer such comfort and shelter for exhaustion

And I’m exhausted by your niceties

And mine

Because all we’re meant to be through tampered eyes

I’m done

So let my fingers bind with yours

Within those darkened spots

Your holes

Allow my holes

To be

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