this is the turning point

a small thing

May 20, 2019


underneath woollen sweaters
and cherry coated pleasures
we stop.
whispers on your tongue,
i watch you crawl, and dance
into a lifetime that is no longer yours.
and i watch the crispness of your breath
seize every opportunity to tell me where i went wrong.
this is a small thing.
in solitude we are silent,
like a flock of flightless birds.
or a myriad of litigious arguments,
somewhere between hopeless and sane.
when you whisper that line again.
do not question why i am still.
do not question why i am the first to leave
or the first to burnish our sins.
so, to reach some form of expiation,
we retrace our steps,
and breathe.
fighting our footsteps in its high tide,
fingers traced in lacy underwear,
whilst you are walking
i look behind us,
to see that the footprints have vanished behind us.
and it is only me again.
like the calmest wind on an autumn’s day,
this is a small thing.
i am used to this,
do not question me.
it is part of my enigma, my presence, my mechanics.
it is part wholly because of those stares you used to give me,
before i ruptured, and burned.
this is a small thing.


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  • May 20, 2019 - 2:54am (Now Viewing)

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