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Crater

The depression in my chest—a desolate field inhabits shallow breaths and hollow bones, discarded sentiments of hope. This cavity, once a blooming garden, is a withering wasteland. Iris buds cower in the face of the scorching sun. This space craters me. I must be the one to nurture the sprouts back to good health, so that they will one day be able to bloom and share their beauty with the rest of the world.

Crater

The depression in my chest—a desolate field inhabits shallow breaths and hollow bones, discarded sentiments of hope. This cavity, once a...