I can
not
believe
that
I
am
pondering
some
kind of
fool-hardy
re-connection
to
to
to
what...
exactly?
To...
[long silences]
[absent commitment]
[incredulous semantics]
[anti-labeling]
you
I can't. I already feel this
ooze
That wells up inside me and struggles at my eyes like tear gas to force the tears out
What the actual fuck am I even doing?
When I stare at myself in the mirror and despise my ability to empathize -
What does that make me?
Is it something I want to be?
Is it even me?
Or is it just a last stubborn part of you:
Little piece of glass in my eye.
Riveting
Tinkling
Sharp.
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