Real and true
Not imaginary says who
Pills dulling the pain
Wine stopped working
Making it rain
Quiet goes she
When there’s three
Tired she warned
Those that listened
Tears that glistened
Like rain and age
Withered away
Along the bay of sands
Stretched and broke
Hip pocket not stoked
The fires and embers that
Once rocked her boat
Quiet she be
She is me
Ghost words of the imaginings 
be it hurt
mirth joy
to your boy
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