where we fail to mark our lives,
they make marks upon us
and your words burn holes me me still.
i cannot shut my mind to still
the echoes of flames.
i don't hope anymore,
concerning you.
i am sick unto death
of wishing you towards me
and away, so tired
of your appearances
just as i believe i
may have forgotten you,
and then here you are
and i scrape myself everywhichway
to cater to you.
i am tired
of the lurch in my throat,
your way of pretending
nothing happened at all,
the flighty, loveyou, hateyou,
mournful look
the secretive smiles
aimed ten degrees to the left
of my face,
of saying hello, then goodbye,
watching you slowly disappear
from my life.
now only dates mark my memory.
i will remember each year -
one year older, one year
further away
from you.
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