Break me to small parts.

In the days of your blue mistakes
I would lie open eyed and disconsolate
repeating events behind my eyes.
Nothings on the end of my tongue.

And now.

Now I creep from room to room
looking for something I’d thought not lost.
Hoping and praying and not knowing
one inch.

With
each person
each new word
I look for the stilling of my restless heart.

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9 thoughts on “Break me to small parts.

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