i do not know what it is inside me that leeches
my pity, empathy. as i watch you curl disintegratingly
into yourself. your crescent moon self isn't
who you used to be. and my inverted tears don't
do you justice. i gather up reasons for apathy
and hold them out life a fanned deck of
bicycle cards. turning the wheels of your rising
and falling chest. you suffer through, dangling
above a void of unknown untold... they use your
body like a research rat. yet i have no tears for
you. a sliver of glass rests in the corner of my eye
but your face is erased from memory. how could
i say that a person deserves... agony? far from mute,
though it is i who cannot say what it is about myself
that keeps me from bothering to glance back behind
my retreating shoulder
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