Stash

A hollow vessel

shoved to

the rim

with damp cloths

old twigs,

shiny metal,

love notes

all drenched

in a stench

of sadness.

 

I am a mouse

hoarding

trinkets into

my hole,

forgetting

that I am only

small,

and tired.

And as I cram

the stolen

sock into my

stash, I realize

there is no

longer room

for me.

 

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