Getting Over it

One becomes two
becomes one
becomes none
without knowing –

I guess I didn’t know her.

Hell,
she didn’t know herself,

but that’s hardly the point.

Now distance is measured in sundials and shot glasses:

One
          Two
                    Tie your shoe.

Three
          Four
                    Shut the door.

Five
          Six…
Thankfully I never made it to six.

Six cigarettes maybe.

One for each mistake.

Maybe,
now I can rest

my eyes.
But rest will never really happen.
Not for you.
There will always be another pair
of eyes,

or legs.
The trick,

is to keep your eyes
aside,

isolated,

away from the in-betweens,

because catharsis resides
outside…

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