take the middle road.
don't stray too much to the left,
or to the right, and let my fingers,
hinder the way you've always,
counted forward.
gone backwards.
the dipper of freckles along,
the small of your back,
near the perfect shades of indigo,
and azul along the thinness of,
veins-
to see, and to know,
such consistency,
will always,
be a light,
my guide,
in the most,
maelstrom
of nights.
maybe if these fragments weren't so heavily undulated among different people, i would feel better if half of his res would sail away indifferently. if these lamentations weren't so cynical, and i weren't so submissive, maybe letting in would be so much more fortunate and the sense of spiraling wouldn't feel so entreating.
voids that never cease,
are the ones that'll never be buried
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