Correcting Repetitions

I don’t think I can survive this mess,
waking up every day
to the same song playing in my head
and the same light shining
into this sheetless empty bed.
There’s just the memory of frustration,
lingering like an insult
and promising so many things that will never come true,
even that it will become easier to forget
every last word
that was ever said
just to cut me.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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