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Disturbance #148


She spun me along memories' pathways, gifting me visions. In my head, she voiced words I wrote in innocence. Then she set me free, to be victim. Or whatever I chose.

All worlds turn,
making giddy the bones and
the memories that ride this carousel.

Unseen (between sheets
of the days we rape our dreams on)
are Regrets: they crawl in, our hideous offspring, lie between us, force us apart.

Thus fear births a demon.
And demon's victims all are left unsung,
within tumbled, cross-strewn, cemetery walls.

Isn't every birth a homecoming, a longing to be forced apart again?

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