I’ve swept the ashes of your maybes
from the corners of my skull.
This house is holy empty now
the locks glow, beautiful.
No more rent paid in what-ifs,
no shadows signing leases.
Just the hum of quiet
and the scent of burnt releases.
The walls still wear your echo
like a stubborn stain of light,
These boarded windows frame the dawn
who’s the prisoner? You or I?
About the Creator
Yasmine Lagras
creative writer , poet and researcher.
Aspiring to reach more people.
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