consistency

the thoughts crept along all day
gnawing at me:
the way I haunt this place
killing time
and a little more of myself
every day;
I put them down in ink
smearing them
as I hurried to record
and destroy,
shoulders aching
from carrying their weight
too long,
forgetting form in order to
rifle them off
and let them bruise the paper
instead of the heart

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