February

25 6 14
                                    

sorry about that

Red roses in a plastic vase, neither one from you;

I was just grateful you were kind that day.

I looked over my shoulder and grimaced, fearing I made eye contact with someone I used to know;

You give a wave and I barely glance,

Rushing past you and hiding until it's safe to come out.

I never used to be like this, you know?

It's a maddening existence, averting gazes and questions and human interaction;

I hope you all forgive me someday, although I fear I won't make the effort to make sure of it.

You skate across my mind with razor-sharp blades,

Making sure to leave your mark and dig it deep.

Carve me open like the Grand Canyon and view it with disgust instead of awe;

Nothing makes sense anymore.

(But did it ever make any sense?)

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