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Time Does Not Heal All Wounds

A Poem Written at 2:34 AM

By Luriah HinshawPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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It gets easier with time

is what they all said,

while my best friend

was being lowered into the dirt.

I almost believed them

until three years later

while I was packing my life

into boxes to get away from the place

where I lost my second self,

and I pulled his favorite sweatshirt

out from under my bed.

It still carried the scent

of cheap cologne, the kind

of scent that never leaves

your nostrils. The pure black

coffee still stained on the left shoulder

from the day he tripped over his goddamn

shoes that never got put away.

The pocket held the lighter he stole

from me because he could never

keep track of his own and god forbid

if he ever went five minutes

without a cigarette.

My vision quickly became

blurry, my breath caught

in my throat and my chest

grew heavier as I stared

at that sweatshirt of his.

It gets easier with time.

sad poetry
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