Monday, November 16

Give me your hand

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.


Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

It's been forever since I've been genuinely tired. I've forgotten how good hard work feels. I've forgotten what it's like to lie back on your bed to just sink. To sink and to keep sinking in the most satisfying agony there is. I'm counting down. It's just another two weeks. 14 days. I keep publishing this nonsense and hitting the edit button within seconds. I'm going to go take a scalding hot shower. Infinite steam and pounding water and burning and not getting out of the way when your reflex is to shrink back is the only way I can bring myself to face the passing of another 24 hours.

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