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Simra Sadaf Sep 2018
I realised
I can not hold light
or words
as they slipped out
from the crevices
of my fingers
and the palm that had
our names written,
ink smudged and
seeped under my skin,
same syllables
the association of letters
your postfix
my prefix,
now I fail to get
the letters of
your name right,
the light,
or you.
trf May 2018
your "friends" that we meet,
i forget their names,
my calloused palms are greased,
by their  squeezing hands

i remember one's a banker,
or he could have said a thief,
his ******* words were flanked,
by my disbelief

i was held hostage,
you were a smiling drone,
i remember when i lost ya,
to Stockholm Syndrome

their Heirloom Suffix changes,
on tuxedos and trust funds,
my rental wears just fine,
i'm not a "chosen" one

   sparing breath from gettin' angry,
   i excused myself for a smoke,
   these times they are a changin',
   what's gonna cease this joke

   shorting stocks on tuesday,
   while playing ball in hand,
   honey, how could you lose me,
   busted seams this man

I am not a banker,
I am not a saint,
I'm not to be trusted either,
And won't place the blame.
I am not a proxy,
I am an astronaut,
But this distant world you live on,
Might not be your fault.

— The End —