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Quietly these thoughts hover and float
unsought, undreamed-of clinging only to that
fear of unknown drifting; drifting elsewhere,
slithering gently; silently unfolding words that wither
in whispered silence. The unresponse.
Strangely shocked, no scars of self-deception,
quietly these thoughts, past truths float up;
dreams of insecurity, gently, silently unfolding
the unknown moment which drifts elsewhere.
No more the ever-present voice, my head
at last too tired to dream of observation;
Instead a deepness in the innards, strange feeling,
illuminates a death in life, awareness,
devoid of the apparel that kept me "safe".
Settling
footsteps turn, as,washed-in washed-out,
the one that roared in self-defacement has,
these past few moons, stilled, preferring
quickened emptiness;
a want of insufficiency that leaves me
Mutely
in thoughtless contemplation
quietly licking self-inflicted wounds.
How
to deliver this absence of absence?
The one who has been me so long has departed,
or else somehow ceased its dreary confirmation.
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