Friday, August 26

maybe not

I'm also pretty sure
of what i won't miss, but the mind
plays tricks- writes & re-writes
and our strange story never seems done.

i always say, this will be
my last poem for you
i don't know if that's true but nothing seems clear anymore.
i'm not mad and i'm not gone.
for what it's worth:
stash it in your metal heart, and move on.

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