I was here.

Paper thin skin rests in spaces abandoned
By a heavy-handed dreamer with smoke on his lips
Whose heavy-handed fingers could not resist
The timidness of protruding hips
I knew all of this once, chiseled letters into skin –
“I was here.”

But somewhere among all the skin that was shredded
The crinkling scraps and the things I’ll forget
I left more than a shadow, a shallow soul and hollowed bones,
I left my own knowingness and now I’m alone.

In spaces abandoned the rest of me rests,
the parts that are left,
And he will forget that I once knew it all
Who will recall the times I was here?
Embedded letters lost to skin cells deadened by a heavy handed dreamer and questions open-ended.

So I’ve arrived at a point
Where this all feels pointless –
It’s a broken-jointed bone refusing to bend
I don’t have much left to rest upon chests
Of heavy-handed dreamers
Who have even less.


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