Poetry on Post-its #3

No. Don’t talk to me about your thoughts on the matter/ Another word and my zen-like patience will shatter/ while your head gets fatter with placeholders/ I scatter the remains of my soul on barren ground/ splattered with the red of my older self/ Colder than the remains of a bolder self/ I’m weakened, suffocating in the folds of a shaken breath/ breaking prematurely through a cracked chrysalis Stop. Don’t tell me you’ve watched me long enough to see my mind and read through my actions. A late reaction in form of a retraction but the damage is done/ the world thinks you are the one.



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