I write to you, may you understand what it is I couldn't, this strangeness of the soul confronts me, like, like a falling about to happen; a violent downfall into the blade of ruins.
At the late discreet hour, my body is a glove of sorrow, heavy in quivering bareness; a bitter piece of flesh & bone sinking in private ruins.
Conceal my soul, abandon me, un-write the very image of self that escapes me; the lost purity my mind can't make up for, the purity I am no good to reach for.
Un-write me as I am;
Growing older
trembling
trembling
In the ruins.
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