the inevitable lack of grace
with which i plunge into
the depth of my emotions
is the reason i struggle against my words
as they hold me down
quite unlike a lover would
make perpetual questions out of lonely answers
lonelier still, though the rhythm of what is and what if
makes waves in the sickly complacent ripple of when, never, how
when never how
echoes of here and now
only time and passing glances allow
taste it
i dare you
before i spill my wasted discontent all over everything i knew
taste my
favorite
flavor
before it spoils in my rancor
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