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getting there on your own

all your tomorrows become your todays

all the plans you made get in the way

the looking glass just stares right back

the unloved kids and their unloved pasts

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no easy answer, i’m afraid

standing on an island in the middle of a black sea

wind blowing cold, ocean air across the night sky, talking

blinking stars humming white, i can’t hear what they’re saying

they are far away like the old me and all those thoughts 

the young and the incomplete, missing and searching

a paper heart, not bruised or rough

(hopeful the night’s rest will bring a day of warm, soft sun)

that’s not how i feel anymore

the light at the end is small and so far

there are only two steps, and if you look closer, one

the going forward and the looking back

sometimes standing still is better than dying for good

and maybe that’s a sort of movement

looking up as things change, so slowly

one sky melts and another is revealed

nothing is ever really still

the magic, morning light of dawn comes from that distance, unreachable as ever

time swirling around in orange, pink and red

breath after breath after breath

i’ll know what i’m worth just as soon as i learn how

and that’s as close to hope as i’m going to get

until it all goes away and comes back new

never quick enough, never quick at all

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devil’s path, catskills







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ever after

the small boy who leaps off the high ledge into the deep river knows about fear and love

jump over the fear and get all the love in the world

get the love and escape the fear

the love grows bigger, the fear dies in half-lives and is someday forgotten

everything gets closer

nothing far away, not a single thing

your heart, your sad heart will breathe a fresh new air

the quiet kind, late night with stars

your favorite song playing sweetly all around, the walls soft with the kindest light

you’ll whisper to me: “they don’t make days like this anymore.”

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[ ]

i wanted to put a bag over my head and crawl out of the room backwards and silently, but that’s not the sort of thing you do while someone is over there having a seizure.

this is not life out of a magazine.

1 year, as of tomorrow.


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between the wish and the thing life lies waiting



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