It’s not like I can claim,

that I am not as much to blame,

It’s not like I

can’t recognize,

can’t rationalize,

conceptualize the game,

don’t think that I can’t hang,

don’t think my mind will change,

It’s not as if,

feelings like this,

don’t define my Everything,

and control the unfolding,

of such events,

the deliverance,

eloquence in my heart’s breaking,

another undertaking,

to the smoky depths,

It’s not like I am blind,

To the ways of heart and mind,

It’s not like I

haven’t memorized,

and compartmentalized,

internalized such decline,

spoken as a truth, confided,

uttered from a mouth, lopsided,

it’s not as if,

all things meaningless,

are deemed as being mine,

not like I cannot stand idly by,

as if to be left alone means I’ll die,

it’s not like I can’t stand upright,

on my very own,

and move my bones,

the blame is mine, and mine alone.



2 thoughts on “Unfolding.

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