Cresting the familiar stairwell,
to disfamiliar emptiness; no
riant beacon of thrill, to
welcome this vessel home;
trails tracing trails of memories,
beneath shadowed, swollen
sunsets; dew-ladened lashes
languish, as lids in denial
clench; idyllic flashes of fancy,
in the squeeze’s ensuing darkness;
desperately seeking delusions,
in reality’s unforgiving light;
too much time remains, of
not enough time remaining;
too little time for weeping, in
his heartbeat’s eternal pause
art: untitled 22 by Peterio
I read it twice! It’s that perfect.
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