poet’s voice

don’t know what to say, never knew what
a teenager stranger
walking along the seashore
looking for familiar faces in the blankness
checking over my shoulder–for angels in baby’s corner
watching trains pass by, always trains
going opposite days, speeding along the metal track
gold dripped, warm, through my fingertips
liquid time, losing mass, smoked to the ashy grime
her red box fits inside, I’m just a teenager
buried chin high by the seaside
eternally watching, dusk settling
Wishing on a dying star
I count my age, scratch a tear across
the door, the dove white paint, the door
slowly, I soften and melt, determined–yet worn
I disappear through the cracks in the wood
looking on, across the lines in-between
disrupted muse, ruined, imaginary A.D.D., occasionally abused
shut the fuck up world, I’m packing up.


–thanks for reading : )


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