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You forgot to pack the monsters under your bed

your room doesn’t smell like you anymore probably because I sit in there too often so now your pillows smell of my hair and your carpet like the soles of my feet as I enter the dark bedroom every night and flick on the neglected lights to sit under your looming lamp and continue your ritual of laying a bed of tobacco on the faded case of an old DVD and drop a burning ball that smells rough and earthy even as I mix it with my fingers and sprinkle it into tubes licked straight and sit in a lifeless room that died the same night you did but just when I begin to think I’m alone the world darkens and I realize you forgot to pack the monsters under your bed that still awaken every night to hold their ground and continue their ritual to rant and rave as I sit silently above them in your empty room all alone listening to what you used to hear listening to what made you leave but unable to do anything more than what you taught me to do.

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