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The Closet
Dark and deep is my closet.
I plan to take away my sentimental cobwebs.
Instead an outline of a man's face in smoke
stared back at me.
The look did not intend to haunt.
His eyes looked caring, surprisingly.
His soul spoke no syllables or smiled.
He left a scent that consumed me.
I could not scream. I just did not move.
I just looked. I remained still.
A second briefly passed.
I banged the closet door, leaving the
spiders to weave their intricate snares,
unceasingly.
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