You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.

The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...

-Walt Whitman



STILL a faint taste of you in my mouth, indelible words I can only speak in whispers, in the dark. Meanwhile, hours’ worth of memory eggrolls in that hollow space where I have kept you. Alight, alive with emotions are the broken parts it touches only to fall in some crack somewhere. I blink and there it is again. Intact, like it has its own consciousness, a living organism beating with my own. It spins, rolls, bounces off my walls like a twisted game of pinball that I keep playing over and over and over again. I look at my watch. Still broken. All I have, I realize, is time and too many coins.

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