(I wrote this, at some point, in my journey through the Florida chapter.)
Look at You, looking at me.
I'm wondering why Your looking at me...
I've turned, tired.
Why do Your eyes follow me,
Your thoughts,
Your hand?
You wrote it, against any of my conscience or willingness.
I've looked back,
I've asked,
I’ve wondered,
I'm troubled.
You wrote it.
I feel it and feel how deeply ingrained it is,
-scored-
a branding I’ll never lose.
It sits, I sit with it, but I don’t know it.
Though I know it’s there, I don’t know it.
You wrote it.
The only hope I have is You.
You wrote it,
…tell me about it.
1 comment:
Beautiful...
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