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• ab intra •

from within

7/2/20

memories of you resurface once and a while but they don't bring joy like they used to

only remorse and dismay

only catching yourself when you fall because he can't

only weeping petals floating to the ground as a gentle chant of he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not closes with he-loves-me-not

only holding your half-beating heart in your hands

bump… bump… bump...

only writing poetry as an aide-memoire to stop holding your heart out to him

for he shall never be cautious with it

he will run with it like a young child who hasn't yet discovered the danger of scissors

the poetry in this book is shorter than this poem. all written by me.

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