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On wanting the impossible

He didn’t really want to hit me
it just started as a shrug and it stumbled
on the tip of the elbow as the pain of life
the unprocessed suffering of possession
that makes tears overflow
and lips dented with teeth marks
took over his instincts
and then it was just one swing of the forearm
that carried the terrors of long-
forgotten nightmares that came back haunting
and the present was slowly turning…



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Zita Fontaine

Writer. Dreamer. Hopeless romantic. Newsletter: Email me: zitafontaine (at) gmail