the walls of your bedroom are thin

and they cry every night


sometimes the house could fall

apart because the earth trembles

with your grief and hers


a sound so sad

that the bats follow it around

thinking it is the sound

of lost birds


and you are not to be found

even when you are warm

under the smooth skin

of blankets


the walls will soon be silent

and neither of you here:


when the bats return to sleep

and the birds find daylight.

More Poetry

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