A little too much of things,
Under my pillow,
Some words, a letter, a locket,
A pen and some scrolls of grief,
A little pain,
Some pills to get rid of,
Some habits to quit,
Habits of falling,
In a cold abyss,
Where love is carved in pictures,
A fog is all there is,
A little too much of things,
Under my pillow,
Some crooked memories,
With dust of pretense settled on them,
Some books of one’s childhood,
With her smell on them,
Some glasses to break,
Some poems to erase,
And a letter to burn.

A little too much of things,
Under my pillow,

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