24 January, 2017


My anger runs away
in listless braids, ribboned
to a dark room and
I am abandoned to the rest of myself

We haunt ourselves by speaking
and every time I hear myself
I can see into the past

I thought I’d know how by now
But the sins we create for each other
are endless and the jars to catch them
are all broken
or put away somewhere

My sins are only useful to myself
My anger bolts
back to a stained past
Perfect glass ribbons

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