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May 16 · 73
My friend, the drunk
And there were words in everything
But the words all eluded you.
And you held to a pain and felt it was true
But, like many things, hurt feigns worth.
And when your time becomes white,
And the knowing forgets the sight,
And the afternoon is emptier than your night-
Is there reason in this, my friend?

And is that bottle worth anything,
The one that you favor so much?
And does the changing of days mean anything,
When you're numb to the morning's touch?
Ah, the road is always silent and loving
For those who travel in its shadows.
And those who go where all have gone
Will be but a conjoined shadow in the dawn.
May 15 · 183
This moment only obscures me,
Like sunlight smudged on a black table.
May 15 · 460
Though it may seem as if
I am trying to gaze through you-
I am only attempting to
Perceive you, and thus
Make you real.

You'll return my gaze,
But it will be nothing more
Than that- no attempt to
Perceive or make me real.
Just two, unconcerned eyes

And the strange pain of
Knowing that you'll walk away
With that newly awarded
Materiality. Like a quickly
Fading dream after a long sleep.

Like a small memory evoked
By a pattern on the green dress
Of a passing woman, newly
Real and walking fast.

— The End —