December

I don’t speak much these days. There’s hardly any time to waste in jibber-jabber. There’s no time to make love, no time to start all over. The muse has flown from its cage, there’s no more poetry just an empty page. Did you know, I turned eighteen just yesterday? The day before that, I was learning to ride a bicycle. A week before that, I took my first ever steps. We shall always be infants in the universe, you and me. You want time to heal your wounds, but darling, my teeth sink so deep in your skin the scars will last a lifetime, and tomorrow we shall both be dead. You can rage and rant and pace and chant, you can smoke and drink all you want, and in the end you will remember me but I shall be long gone.

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