One-Sided

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If you’re lucky,

You will see the writing on the wall–

Whether you’re enthralled,

Or feel the scald,

Of the stream of consciousness,

Depends on the context.

But the assymetrical,

Solipsistic nature of feeling,

Will leave you reeling all the same,

If the answer isn’t what you’d hoped.

Whether the graffiti,

Is a firm “no I don’t,”

Or “I wish I could,”

Or the dreaded “once I did.”

That disparity,

Will sting, 

Believe me,

But with time comes clarity,

Do not despair.

To forgo the truth,

To let sleeping dogs lie,

Is to be forever ensnared,

In your most cherished,

Nightmare.

Fault Lines 

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Sudden unbelievable stress,

Has proven too much,

For two-halves,

Of a whole.

“I-I thought I had it,”

The subsided end stammered,

Visibly panicking.

“Look at this mess you’ve made,”

Said the hanging wall,

Haranguing,

His peer.

There was much tension,

So aftershocks,

Seemed likely.

“That’s easy for you to say,”

Said the footwall,

“You’re in no position to judge,”

Feeling their grip,

Slightly budge.

“This is aggravating,”

Said the risen end,

“This is strenuous,”

Their continued harmony,

Seemed tenuous.

They continued,

To point fingers,

As one side fled,

To bury it’s head,

And the other,

Bottled it up,

For a future,

Outburst.

Maybe You Were Right

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Doubt,

Seeps in,

Through the tiniest crack,

And contaminates everything.

It shrivels up,

Whatever it’s touched-

Leaving behind stains,

And an awful smell.

What can rejuvenate,

What it has poisoned?

Only trust does that.

Swallow your pride,

Say begrudgingly,

“Maybe you were right,”

I guess.

But be preemptive,

Plug the holes first,

So it can’t percolate.