Wednesday, March 2, 2016


(Written 3 March 2016, 4:40 am.)

You could have forgotten the nuances that meant nothing.
Instead, they're all I remember of you --
The things that mean or would mean nothing,
But the things that paint me blue.

You could have held me together in the palm of your hand.
Instead, I fell apart at your feet.
You watched, and sympathized, and tried so hard
To use reason to make, in me, reason and madness meet.

You could have breathed the shards of my being,
And gravitated my edges to your fingertips.
Instead, I bled into the vacuum of space
And time drank me in drunken sips.

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