Distractions eradicate
Lost to the quotient of 'unfinished'.
Words, they evaporate
Leaving me to wonder
How my foolishness made way
For potency to grow bored,
And disappear.
These pockets of time, of feeling
Leave, in their lost spaces
Holes filled with doubt.
Love, is desirous, for more, than the return
Of itself.
It carves a dungeon
To house the skin-crawling singularity
Of limbs wrapped to themselves.
It will placate cave-dwelling
As the ideal home for cerebral sludge
A worthy backdrop for the heart and the head
To bang out their reasoning
Their deviations,
And their docile resistance
To work in unison,
Achieving-
Stoic trophies
That serve noble purpose
But do little
To soften
Souls,
As years speed and slide
Slowly by.
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