Turning these thoughts has begun to twist my sanity
and these abilities no longer know what qualities they still have.
I’m the last one you should trust,
the last one where the lines are so long they disappear
into all the eyes still looking forward,
leering into the kind of desire that comes with handles
and mantles meant to move on into colder nights.
I’ve made decisions,
like the choices that would have been made anyway
and replies came down in tones of luxury,
like luggage being seen
in the hands that would’ve never carried it away.
Maybe between us,
I am the only one who would’ve given up,
the only one who would’ve ran scared,
like unprepared for some exam I’ve never heard of,
but these thoughts are easy,
like breezes beneath kites
and nobody to tug the string,
they just start flying around, like half-meant comments
and only turning around to rub it in my face.

About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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