You were born, my god.
One day you learned the sounds,
you vocalized your need.
You grew, you played, you fell.
You wrote curvy words in school.
Something happened, maybe once.
It may have been chronic,
it may have been enough
to change you forever.
It may have been enough
to push you off the edge.
You may have seen the blood,
you may have kissed
a cold face, for the last time.
You may have offered everything,
you may have emptied yourself.
And there you stood
with the tangled mess
of imaginary paths and
muddled memories, consuming you.
Your anguish was killing you,
but your face buried it alive.
You were numb.
But, you were born again, my love.
One day, a soul sat by you, and
cracked your shell.
Another clenched your mind.
Later, another ravaged your pain.
Such succulent words they devised.
You were not alone.
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