Give me a day
for you to treat
these fresh spring
wounds of mine
I've been collecting them
in secret
in passing
by the roadside
where you once walked.
The pale
sick
sky
screaming overhead
and underfoot;
we don’t know where
we stand anymore
and you've exited that
dream of mine
a trillion times
where one of us pulls away
just as the other
becomes too attached
to breathe
or sleep
or slip further
into safety
or slide further
into the guarded
arms of regret.
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