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Quinn Clearwater



The virus 

Flows in my veins

Much like the mold

That used to fill the air

Of my first apartment

I can smell it now

In the dim light

Thru the windowpane 

At noon

And the hasty move

When things got bad

The hopeless feeling

Wet on my skin

From droplets of a rainy March 

And the strength it took

To be frozen in place

Like the fragment of my soul

That still remains back there

Waiting for me to return and pick up the pieces

Of that old life.

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