The robot that stands in the corner of the
living room watching, waiting
An investment of sorts, in mental illness or
slow spirals of natural decay
The hurts spill out into a dark pool between us
Our reflections clearer in the surface of the black water
But when I come back home, roses smile out at me
from the dark recesses beside the house
Saying it's okay and that things will be better in parts
that glimmering pieces of crystal that shine in the darkness
still exist.
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