The things I pour myself into:

Writings in which I mention you;

Neglectful of myself and self-reflective of a someone else who isn’t me, and isn’t thee, and truthfully is lost to both.

Impressing love upon a ghost has set me fairly far from most of those I might have proffered close relationships. I’ve offered but remainders of a love that’s slipped as I have grown ashamed of it.

My heart has made a game of it:

To throw and run and try to catch or capture just a frame of it, before once more it flutters past and dopplers out its name at speeds embarrassing my shutter’s grasps at light.

I haven’t quite been right while working this equation. Solving why just leaves an ex for which I’m lacking a replacement. To what power might I raise a plea to lift me from this plight so that I might see better days again and less forgetful nights?

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