Submit

Go.
Go and be what you will.

I held your ghost
like a shell to my ear,
but never had more
than an echo of ocean —
shallow and unreal.

And I do not know
what I would be,
but this battle does not serve.

I am tired of bleeding.
And I am tired of burning.
All to no end.

So go.
Keep yourself to yourself,
if you must.

And I will lay down
the shell,
the spear,
and submit
to this season of silence.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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