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The Hate-Blanket

Bitter Comfort

The blanket clutched tight, pulled up chin high. Her clenched hands frozen, unwilling to loosen their grip.
Beautiful, petrified wood.

Drawn up a little more, touching her bottom lip. Straight teeth gnaw, like a rat, at the border. The old blanket tastes of jealousy, loathing, and contempt.
Deep satisfaction.



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Sydney Duke Richey

Writing from the heart, I’m inspired by everyday experiences. My poems, haiku and non-fiction come from a slice of my life. *Top Writer in Poetry*