bang it out

the familiar ache as i gingerly
alight on the landing. a Good ache,
mind you, reminding me that i am
still myself, i am still here haunting
my own walls for these years to
come. what are the pieces of our
selves we leave behind, anyway? a
note, a warm feeling, a faded
photograph or three. scatter
my ashes at the Frolic Room.


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