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Then, There were tears,
But they came too soon.
The problem is, we feel too much.

Let's find something to numb.
Memories resurface
And physically hit me
Like a slap in the face.
Invisible bruises are no less agonizing;
Purple flowers blooming in my heart.
Nothing has changed, nothing will, not this way.
I am a poor fool, bound to you
And begging, on my knees, for every scrap you toss my way.
Reconnection leads to reinfection,
I am a sad fool,
A mad fool, to risk again, all that I have.
And yet, as you reach out…I am lost,
Clinging to virtual words, dreaming of a world that’s gone,
Trying to glue together something shattered
Wishing for time reversal, praying for a miracle
To salvage my remembrance of a desperate year.
I did a psychopath test
And failed miserably.
I am so glad.
Apparently, my capacity to be hurt
Is far, far greater
Than my capacity to hurt
Which is reassuring,
As at times, this year,
I have felt like a monster
Worthy of the orange jumpsuit,
The media sensation,
And the lurid reputation.
But the test tells me to be careful,
That many others don't share my "well developed conscience"
And will damage me, beyond repair,
These others, they don't care.
Beloved, aching poets,
Beware, Beware, Beware.
A sweep of sick nostalgia,
At these old familiar mind games.

Second guessing,
Constant stressing.

Are you playing with me?
No, I'm playing with myself.
Mmmmm...and it feels good.
Anger returns, now
In a raging crimson flood
With the urge to purge.
His heart is dying
Paper thin fragility
Reluctantly beats.
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