I’m Pounding These Keys

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I’m pounding these keys

Trying to create a landmark

Something to last through time

A rhyme to set off a sudden spark

I’m vain in ways I won’t admit

A schedule of words upon the page

Formulas/equations for me to disconnect

Memories for after I’ve withered into age

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Finding An Edge To Life

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Finding an edge to life
Loose thread; ripping out the seams
Setting out for an independent life
No purpose if they’re not your dreams
Perplexing choices to those
Who forgot to shake in quaking fear
You hope to wither in the memory
Of these who are content to remain here

Anaïs Nin

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“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
― Anaïs Nin