Lucien Freud's "Hotel Bedroom"
by: classic violet.

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silence in the morning
dark shadows covering up the mistakes
we made.

air flaunting in through the hollow open window
taunting our movements
our bruises cascade down our memories.

he casts his phantom over her,
while she, dear girl, lays hopelessly
distraught in the bed.
motionless.
dripping her emotions on bed sheets,
only to fall onto the floor.

his lingering frame is unmoving,
reality never held such static confliction.