each lurks in their solitary spaces
calling this living, happiness, choice
when all the others are gone but
it’s too exhausting
and always disappointing
to seek replacements
so they squat, elderly hibernation
cocooned in the detritus
of lives well lived
or just the dregs of all that
came and went, before
before now
before the vacuum
ghostly, gutted goals and dreams
all for what
even faith a tattered
threadbare wrap
keeping out nothing
but somehow
holding in everything
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