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Sep 2013
creeping** cold fingers slipping
through the cracks in
our-house is built upon old western roots
that sometimes find their way
up into our heads and fill us
with these notions of history and purpose
as if an accumulation of past events
was enough to create meaning out of a shapeless empty
night is where they all seem to run
off to in search of something more than themselves
but mostly just recognition
as they hold up mirrors to the world
imploring everything they see to be as they are and love as
i-love the way she would bundle up her hair
and let it rest atop her
like a curled sleeping little cat
with-sideways-eyes
she glanced but never truly looked at me
which was enough to shatter
my inclinations towards something more
than just acquaintances
or any other empty word
thats less than what
i-always-wanted
to be more to someone than they were to me
and maybe i am
but it never seems to happen with the right people
or maybe i havent been paying attention
to all those I left behind crying alone
before life stopped letting me hurt
because living takes things
that dont exist like
balance becomes impossible in this world of flux
where everything we are and want
just ebbs and flows.



© 2013
Kevin Triolo
Written by
Kevin Triolo
  953
   Tabitha, --- and Chalsey Wilder
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