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Feeling asleep from the honeycomb

Peeling the crust from my eyes each day.

Coffee like a mud pit, waking slowly.

Each day is a little experiment.

We are taught that nothing good lasts.

I spend each day spinning, wrestling

Meaning to confront a few things.

Deciding what means what to me.

Wrapping myself up I see, can

I appreciate these curves I have

matured into.  Leaping into a well

of uncertainty.  Resisting the urge to

comply with your standards. 

Sinking myself into a puddle of

wanting, showing off, pedantically

searching for meaning. Ridding

myself of little things and exchanging

them for currency.  Making time to

write down the tiny nightmares and

inconsistencies.  Wondering how it

may feel to embrace you, to have

one thing I have not. Wondering

if and when I’d be ready.  Indulging

In the thoughts of you.  Emotions

radiating from my touch while

they fall on deaf ears.


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