asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,
asklepiades
asklepiades

  • Mood:

Parallax

Five, the years and all the lies.
Little slides flipping by when I pull a lever,
Black and white; when I reach the end they just start over again.

I watch them until the evening comes, light dipping behind the sill of the window and
shattering on some picture frames,
exploding around the room before
still.

That's the most finite way I know to say goodnight, but even these slides dim slowly
and I could not say when I went from making out faces to making out
nothing at all.

There have been days,
days I remember
days I can claim as my own.

And there have been days,
Days I wasn't me
Days that have drifted by.

Five, the years and then the lies.
Years I struggled to make sense of the places that came to me the words that were said by me.
Years I bit my lip and made it by
Years I made it by.
Years I never recognized and was never recognized and never recognized and
Years I never felt like me.

I recognize those years now,
and I can find myself in them now,
but I can't recognize today, rising from a pile on the floor as the sun sets behind the sill of the window,

and in still silence sinking back down to the floor.
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