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Clare Martin Clare Martin
Recommendations: 12

Cashmere and Shadows


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soul mates

I talk most when there's nobody around to hear me,
When nobody can judge my words or my tone of voice.
Times when nothing matters, when nobody wants to hear
The woes of this inexperienced teenage girl. She's too young.
She gets caught up in dreams too often. She doesn't know.
They hear my words, but not my unsung tone of voice.
That's when the shadows understand me the most.
That's when my cashmere candle is always up for a chat.


The house is beautiful, but so quiet and alone, like me.
The sheets are warm and fresh, but so big and empty.
The cashmere candle is always lit, but it brings no memories
Of happier times. It's just a smell I've always liked, fresh and sweet.
Even when my head and body was bruised and my heart in pieces,
The scent of cashmere was always there with its sweet, sweet warmth
And its pastel shade of purple. I never paid it much attention back then
But it hears me out now. It can take the pain that nobody else could bear.


I stare at the candle and shadows as though they are my rocks.
The candle stares back wordlessly, flames flickering on its frail little wick.
It's sadder than the shadows, tears always falling down its lilac face.
I stare at the shadows when I talk, but the candle listens in comfortingly.
I can tell, because its flames never die; it's always living with me.
It's just as understanding as darkness and bears my woes on the wick.
Tears drip down its face every day, every time it's lit, and I find myself
Wishing that I never lit it, but who else would take the burden I can't carry?


Together we, me, the shadows and the cashmere candle, struggle on.
We're all outcasts of this world, forgotten by the majority of humanity.
The shadows are so silent, filled only with the songs I sometimes sing.
The candle is so heartbroken, crying at nearly every word I say to it.
And me? I'm just how I always am. I'm too loving, too gentle and sweet.
I smile when I know I should be sobbing just to save my own breath.
No human understands the broken cracks that make my voice,
The tears that I can no longer cry, the words I can no longer say.


Humans...they can be such fools. Because I'm young, I've not felt pain.
Because I'm young, somebody older has suffered more than me.
Because I'm this young and forced to stay in a classroom five days a week,
I don't know the agonies of fatigue, depression, isolation or ongoing
Heartbreak that tears apart my family. They forget that it's my family,
The family I'm in, and the family I make a part of. Why is it that I find
It's so much easier talking to the shadows and a cashmere candle?
Because they, like me, are lonely and lamentable. They are unsung.


They have nobody to call their own. Nobody but me.


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Next: Chapter Three