I'll confess I have a problem
And in itself I find it cleansing but
I worry about her-
The way she plumps and lashes-
I worry she will become a tale of my fractured childhood or a book entitled "How not to lead a tragic life of hating men but mostly yourself."
We've seen this before- perhaps in letharlogica or as my mind restarts,
With full stops or a break with,

Action is messy and if our consciousness might cease and splutter as a poorly oiled machine-
We live when we die in the breath of the decisions we made.


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