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Not Again

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A thought that escapes your mind makes you present all around.
Present through the supposed shenanigans of which it is born.
Absent of action, however, a thought is a thought and it does return.
Without guidance its memory strikes you with shards of insecurity.
It possess no conscience; it has no mind for feelings,
Nor a hidden qualm eating at its insides.
I have felt the thought not seen.
Not seen as in not believed.
She stood there with blurred eyes and a slurred tongue.
Her self-stricken sorrow is useless.
I stand motionless.
It has been three times, yet I have no doubts there will be more.
And there she lies in the kitchen with counterfeit pain expecting attention.
Instead I see selfishness and the thought stabs me once more.





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