tags: yearning

2002

December

2002 Dec 1
In the Maw of Melodrama

If I could only stop picking at my scabs, I wonder if there is a chance I might heal?

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2008

May

2008 May 26
twined

chewing on the frayed ends of old, worn threads
of choice, of chance, of fate, of hope, of dreams
wondering where my free-will ends, this cup
passing, where destiny begins, takes shape
takes form, did it not matter, or do these
things still shift, still split, still slip, twist, and bend
this far out, this late in the game, now in
overtime, with seconds to go, and still…

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September

2008 Sep 7
lacuna

The mornings are the worst,
when all of the sudden,
you are reminded of all that
failed to come true, of all that is not there
all that has never been, and all that will never be

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