And Up

I am the worldly one.

I sniggered, in spite of rules.  But now grieve. Because I am the one,  with the cut off face. Who In spite of life, am caved in my own mind. I am just an echo, in the echo of life, chamber.

Unrecognizable, even to myself. I am dissolving. I Will that I leave no trace. There have been those  whose love, I have French Trimmed. I have been selfish to the bone.

I lose touch too early.

Now I wave my hand around and scratch smudged memories onto faintly sketched pages. The pages, marked over time, describing in code all the lead weighted anguish, of how I once lived.  And how I divided.

Whence  up, how once, I loved back.

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