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Chadhurst Jainlett Sharpe

Flesh to her flesh, A loveless lust of twisting bodies in empty movements and half-filled cardinal promises. Kisses on cold lips and hands through disheveled hair. Hollow. Stranger’s fingers, shivers down a naked spine. Heave. Wandering minds, abandoning primal nature. Passion without. Loneliness within. Hollow. Wetted sheets and sinning stains - vapors in the night. Hollow. Alcohol sweat escaping guilt through pores, liquor mixed with soda - the burn is better than the cigarettes. Hollow. Shameful bodies, wet flesh barely touching beneath dimly lit back doors. Shallow breaths fading in a midnight average. Phones that will neither ring nor vibrate. Social media left unconnected. Lowered heads and fast steps at sightings. Awkward laughter at the mention and a night spent in self-imposed sin. Like an empty coffin - Hollow Like a withered carcass - Hollow Like a bone sucked clean - Hollow. Hollow Be Thy Name.

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