I feel the wind on my ring-finger.
The walls of my home are always white.
“Good Morning.” Good Morning. “How are you?” Fine.
Then silence.
Day in, day out, always reliable.
Expressing my truth brings lasting pain to those I love.
“You sour little shit!”
Outside my window, people talk with friends, make calls, drink coffee.
Hours pass, the sky is filled with purest gold.
I watch dust settle.
-Ben Johnson
Poetry
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