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Hate Paper Doll

Tags: glass left
Nighthawks ~ Edward Hopper 1942

I saw you between my hands cupped against the city’s reflection on the plate Glass window of some Point Road bar. You were drinking from a shot glass, 9 in the morning, 1977 and blood from a new tattoo was seeping through your sleeve.
I heard you’d been to the border; taken some fire and come back a different guy; left behind the friends you knew before you knew that the world would not give you much more than grief.
I left before you could noticed me, not wanting to consider the possible consequences of talking to a ghost.


This post first appeared on The Far Queue, please read the originial post: here

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