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I’m going to quit you,
like the bad habit you are.


You’re a vice,
both constrictive
and a weakness.
You’ve already wasted so much of my time.

So I’m quitting you,
like the bad habit you are.
Cold turkey.


And I don’t believe I’ll regret it.
No more writing about you, wasting time thinking about you.
Is there a moment where it clicks?
Maybe you feel your pieces fall into place and just know.

Is there a moment of clarity where you realize you’re whole (enough) once again, and ready to brave the world?
Your precious, fractured heart is mended to the point of giving it again.

Or is it something where you realize you just have to jump?
If you don’t do it now,
maybe you never will.

Day 102/182
will you still love me
if I don't smile today?
if my tears fall like raindrops
and my world tears at the seams?
if my voice breaks when I talk
and I seek the comfort of dreams?

will you still love me
if I don't cheer up today?
if I sit rigid in silence
and spend the whole day in bed?
if I find solace in cigarettes
and don't keep myself fed?

will you still love me
if I don't laugh today?
if I keep my thoughts hidden
and don't say what I mean?
if I curl up in darkness
and stare at a screen?

will you still love me
if I don't calm down today?
if my patience wears thin
and snaps like a thread?
if my eyes no longer sparkle
and are absent instead?

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?
(A lone voice whispers)

For a dash of exquisite fun

Try to have such a mesmerising style of creativity—when stimulating, visual imagery.

So all those within your prose's proximity:

Can enjoy its delicious delivery

(C) Copyright John Duffy
How does one introduce themself to their loneliness?

Can we skip the pleasantries?
We know each other without introduction.

A firm handshake?
To show authority,
a play with power.


A smile?
Once seen, and still accepted.

A warm embrace?
Maybe that’s too far.
Thanks for your comment on another post, you inspired this ;)
I keep thinking the next thing will be it.

Maybe the next job, the next project, the next person in my life.

But I don’t know what it is I’m searching for.

All I know is something is missing.
Step by step,
no louder than breath—
I walk beside
what isn’t mine to name.

No banners,
no blueprints,
just this sound
of stone learning softness.

You open a window.
I keep the door unlatched.

Let fear finish its echo.
Let the dark chants drift.

Not all ruin is ending.
Some of it
is soil.
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