Flicking through pages, with words unwritten,

Throwing out that which is unopened,

Staring at full memories, otherwise forgotten,

A smattering of half-dreamt dreams. Aborted.

A haven of keepsakes no longer to be kept,

Dust to fall on the polish,

A creaking door on an empty wardrobe -

I dare to stare into abysses now formed

For there's a dead self staring back at me.

The End

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