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I am looking for a place to return to.
I have no strength.
I find myself exposed, one skewed shadow
pulling roots beneath the sun.
Overnight I became wary of everything.
I remark at my own existence. That I could walk away from it.
As all colours part from me.
I open my mouth. I am full of willows and moth wings.
I look for words. I find the old ones and dig up
I have become so simple.
My anger slouches in the corner like a rook. Shuffling, always shuffling.
But he will not speak to me.
This is a living thing.
The paradox is a minor landscape.
No time believes in me.
I will say it again.
I woke this morning and found myself missing.
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