Deaden

Midnight gave me a potion. She said, “This will induce silence
of the mind.” I took three times the prescription.
Midnight shook her head.
There is this ghost with many faces. Each face a demon,
eyes the dark sky we sat beneath. We were always so small.
This ghost, he knows your name. He whispers it when silence
encroaches; he spells it out with stars. Injects it in every rain drop;
a message from the heavens on wanting things you can never
hold in the small palms of your faceless hands.

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