I am so
aware
of this life,
And the youth
she carries
and tries
to hide, inside
these
sunken bones.
I am so afraid to lie
down
Drown, and dip
Into a comatose,
Burying my
name
At the border.
I am here,
golden
Eyed and decidedly
Tactile with my time in
Wise divisions
of paper,
Ink
and hyde.
Poetry
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Sounds like a lot of stray thoughts.