All the words
in the world
I can’t pick any,
Not one
can’t make up a sentence,
Losing humor
in a hazy cloud of dust,
Dust disguised as mist,
Mist I told myself were
butterflies.

What happens when you lose
you experience the opposite,
Grow accustomed,
What happens when you get back
you lose anyway,
What is special
so special about something,
That’s already been absent.

Where does trust go once lost,
Nowhere just creeps
far far far into an abyss,
I’ll never know
why I can’t find words,
Can’t find humor,
Maybe
possibly such is not lost,
Buried is where it lays,
Along with your shovel.

Dry
dry as a desert,
Scorching underneath a
relentless sun,
No longer close enough
to merely be a star,
A glimmer is what used to be,
A spark of hope
of shimmer of
potential.

Close
far too close,
With distance comes perception,
Distance thins string,
Enabling ripping of bonds,
Close off what if’s,
Remember the sun shines
always,
Never always visible,
Though it shines
always above clouds,
Always on separate
far away hemispheres.

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