Friday, September 5, 2014


past tugs at you
stretching out fabric
tearing at shirt

you pull away,
but too gently.

In your eyes
you ask, is something

some small shred,
little place,
remaining? any

way to go back,
at all? Even

if I don't care to?

and worse questions
still, like--

was anything ever there?--

once we are gone
there will be no one
to remember us.

All life is a fiction,
even this, right now,
never happened.

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