Conversation of Consciences

May 9, 2009
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I am only peering through a reflection
On his eyelids; my soul shall never penetrate
His vital irises.

You play alongside, sitting and listening,
While I voice to you an undeveloped insight.
Your eyes are wide and queerly attacking.
Is everything decided for me?

It seems that I am slumping.
In the booth with our lukewarm coffees,
The Times not wrinkling in my grasp.

Your body is very offensive,
Trying to clutch the atmospheres
Centimeters exterior of you.
I can only breathe faster in helpless defense.





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KICK3593 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 23, 2009 at 1:25 am
I realize now that this poem seems highly volatile and that I, as usual, may become a minor living controversy. I hope you are willing to take this poem lightly
 
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