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today is not

a day of mores

those times come too

meadows amongst the murk

broad shouldered gateposts framing

the soft yellow promise of

a happy ending

but theres also the tunnel

where the light’s not always visible

or even present

the potential of my best self

nowhere within reach

i’m stuck with a

moody waif unable to stand still

pupils fluttering about without relief

hands twitching with

semi abandoned thoughts

unable to settle on a reflection

or catch hope,

instead sifting and discarding identities

like an uneasy hand of poker

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