Pulling Words

Perhaps I’m only bored.
Perhaps I’m saddened by my loss of words.

And instead string together the remaining
frames of thought, as though that could
help stall the throne of time.

I think you mistook me for someone else.
When we met so long ago, you thought
me to be someone who shares me name yet
acts in such a way in which I could only hope to
be brave.

And in sleep the peace
that settles me is for never really long.
Awake to thoughts and songs which dissipate
before too long – enough to taste such words, but
never enough to swallow the verse.

Ephemeral sins
from last night line
the seaming of my sides, filling
the spine, tainting my eyes, disfigure -quick-
gone and there.

Vanished before time.

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