365 Days of Poetry — Day 106

Unlike every other emotion,
Every other person of commotion,
We are all but forward in motion.

Drawn and seeping from the veins,
Pulsed and flooded with the building pain,
Our blood is gone and seen it’s better days.

We are young and done.

We are gone and hung.

We are empty and all but one.

– Brittany Rose

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