The Dust Bowl

There is nothing left for me.

Nothing left for me but

Wilted words,

Dried out smiles,

And a dusty silence that blocks out the sun,

fills up my lungs,

streams out of my mouth, my eyes, slips down my fingers,

Until I can no longer breathe.

But do you remember when the flowers bloomed?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/82h5ba/speak_to_me_manager/dvb4og9/

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