each time i glimpsed myself in a mirror,
i saw only grey, uniform and running.
so i went back to black boxes and pale eyes
and sunny days and some raving intellect.
it was all right, for a while.
but everything's all right
only for a while.
i tried to say, "good memories."
but it came out as "i'm missing something."
my tongue is slashed to bits with sugar crystals
that leave me strung out and sliding downhill.
etch the good memories behind my eyes
so that i'll know where to find them,
because otherwise i'll never remember that they happened at all.
when i looked for solace in a story,
i found only roses that ripped me apart,
which is a rarefied kind of stupidity, i know,
but i couldn't deny my compassion's shattered confidence.
sometimes i wish that everything didn't remind me
of the very best things i keep inside myself
and use to slowly burn me up into an empty, loving shell.
so i decided to stop being stupid
and made the damn call already.
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