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 May 2016 Argentum
mike dm
my skin
is thin and
swimmingly scrim.

the moonface
pushpulls me.

i am
moved
too much.

i am
not enough
mover.

i am *****
given,
all too often.

i am
not
me -

i am you
in your supine
palm.

i matter
little.

my
molecules
are
fast
becoming
transparent,

vibrating with the sound
of your voice, which

seems real
-so real-

real
like
when

the kitchen
sink
disposal

runs.
 May 2016 Argentum
mike dm
i am
going to die
yesterday -

and all the feels i get
from this
strange world

will
go
with
it,

leaving my cracked
seashell
at your feet,
promising oceans
within.
How do you tell her
that you're going to break her heart?
How do you say
that she's just an escape?
Just a drug used to forget,
just a fleeting regret.
How do you tell her
she's better off without you?
this poem
is not about you

even though
your spirit is in every word
your voice sounds strong
in the halls of my mind
telling me things
I am now sure
I want to know

this poem is
about me

trying to understand
you
 May 2016 Argentum
Jill D Barker
In this way it begins
With waiting
Grey light and white time -  blank, uniform.

In this way it begins
Passive, at two in the morning
Not quite nausea; not quite discomfort

Inexorably awake awake awake

I can’t write my way out of this.
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