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Hidden away above two thin staircases

a bed, a desk, and bookshelf,

a writer’s paradise

the rain would fall and set

its cadence to my thoughts

the old radiator pumped hot breath

forcing my window to be cracked a pinch

and there each night I would fall asleep

in a melody of cold and hot—

wrapped up safe in all my ghosts. 
 

xx Atticus

@atticuspoetry

www.atticuspoetry.com