Everything
goes fine, fine, fine.
And there
it comes, an ugly day
a spiteful
day,
a day of
thorny words,
of jagged silences,
punching
your eyes,
crunching
your tongue,
pulling
your shoulders
down.
And your
legs
go heavy
and you just sit, sit, sit,
and lay,
lay, lay, lay down
in anger, in
fear
of not
being yourself
or anyone
anymore,
floating in
a sorrow soup
salted with
incomplete ideas,
peppered
with grains of despair,
warmed up
in the coals
of incorrect
timing,
of unfortunate
spaces,
of unplanned
outbursts,
boiling up
and spilling,
to soften
the dry twigs
of you
fragile will.
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