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It’s fading.

Writer's picture: Leah Scott-KirbyLeah Scott-Kirby

I’m trying  desperately to hold on, but it’s fading.

I can’t put into words how much I wish it weren’t softening it’s hue against the blank void of this tethered mess fading into mesh slipping away from you

It was  the first time in a long time that I felt felt felt felt a bond a sickly, sweet, texturized grasp on  some sick sense of entitlement that it’s okay to feel feelings for anyone not just anyone but 

someone

someone.

Am I falling away from the image or the feel of those lips or the grasp on my hips or the voice the voice projected arguments  into a face, engrained into the part of my mind that slowly crumbles into salad toppings and/or a fine soup.

Do words not suffice the single sliver of yearning I attempted to plant in your chest?

Won’t you solidify for me? You can’t hold a joist with a hand made of breath.

Stab a spear through my chest stabilize me with skewer impale me with twigs, fingers, and other things.

Keep me close, won’t you? See how having me feels for one more day.  

Then maybe I’ll let you slip away.

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