Not Knowing.


I feel your soggy eyelashes pressing

Against my face and I  stand there cold

like that January night.

You are crying because you are not sure

where to go without the fire of my hands, and I too

am not sure.

 

You look at me like I know the answer

that I am a calculator and I can spit out answers

I cannot.

I am a book that is unfinished

a poem without an ending

and I cannot answer my own questions

let alone yours.

 

 

 

I wish people weren’t so dependent on me. I’m just me.

 

Grind #2 : I guess this will be every other night.

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