Crumpled inward and low
to the ground, wrapped around
a core from which all
will has fled, systems
that slow combustion
having failed (or perhaps simply
passed on the suggestion
of success), curious in the
steady siren call of a
seeming insistence that
I melt (at
last) down.
What are your defense mechanisms?
What do you find inexcusable?
What happens when you’re forced to drop your guard?
I give. Whatever comes next isn’t mine to control. I’ll do my part. The rest will follow. And rest is exactly what I need. Going to give it a try, for a change, for real.
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