in the after times
when we get to re think the choices
second guess the intentions
it works I guess but not in a way
that services the injured
any way we are talking the talk,
not really
I am screaming at the ceiling
which doubts my intentions
think maybe I didn’t do enough
like the last time
there are so many things to do
my head in the clouds
the way they hang so low
it is not a difficult feat
my face a slack example of time wasted
a throb in the pulse
my eyes a blur of details
it is hard to focus
the screaming has dulled to a roar
a sore throat that aches for soothing
maybe tomorrow
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