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(Day 94) Index

The cards pinned
to my bedroom walls
bear souls reforged
in blue, black, and
purple ink, each
distinct portions
of a fractured deity
spread across space
and time, shards
of the divine to be
woven in such a way
that their readers
might be tricked
into learning something
about themselves.

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(Day 93) Falsehoods

There are few pains
quite like watching a man
you mistook for a prophet
plummet to the depths
of hypocrisy.

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(Day 92) Frustration

Some days the words just won’t come and I worry I’ll never be as good as when I had just begun.

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(Day 91) Labor-Induced Euphoria

I’m a Marxist wet dream fueled by caffeine, ginseng, and heavy lifting.

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(Day 90) Lazy

Wrapped in a comforter,
dead to the world, we begin
spring break by revisiting
a season past, reddit and naps
make the heat wave a non-issue,
the fan on my desk aggravating
your allergies. We drift in
and out of sleep, toss and turn
on my twin bed, drops of sweat
intermingling as we brush,
mumble in delirium,
lose hours without
a care in the world.

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(Day 89) Nerves

There is the monotonous ringing of a bell, the bustle of dragging feet and temporary farewells. You stare at your knees, back pressed to stucco, the seat of your jeans damp with morning dew, look up only when your peers-to-be have vanished, doors slammed in their wake, reach into your pocket, extract your crumpled schedule, whisper the first room number over and over, choke down a lump, rise to your feet, ignore the tightness in your stomach. A second bell rings. You stuff your schedule back into your pocket, sling your knapsack across one shoulder, trudge around each wing, count the numerals painted above each window, pause when you come to the one you’ve been whispering. Voices, laughter, the flipping of pages, the scooting of chairs. You take a deep breath, reach for the cold brass doorknob, turn, pull.

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carnalromp asked: your writing is so lovely!

Thank you kindly! Please keep reading! It’s always encouraging to hear that my work has been enjoyed.

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(Day 88) Walk, Dance, Take the Stairs

We have legs for a reason.

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(Day 87) Discipline

There is no reward like self-control, for all else is out of our hands.

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(Day 86) Comfort

My pillows still smell like you.

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(Day 85) Generosity

Please remember, it’s nice to feel like more than a line a ledger.

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(Day 84) Heat Wave

April showers yield sweaty,
splotchy flowers beneath
the sleeves of our work shirts
when the wind whisks away
the clouds and the sun reclaims
his fiery crown.

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(Day 83) Hint

Wearing pink jeans and a pre-ripped shirt that bears a bastardized spelling of “defiant” doesn’t do shit.

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(Day 82) Rust

One’s voice is not to be left out in the rain overnight, lest it rust.

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(Day 81) Fiend

Barefoot beneath a crescent
drenched in earthshine, I fumble
with my lighter against the chill
that comes after a week
of overdue downpours,
inhale, exhale into the wind,
join my voice with its own,
a chorus or crickets and toads
in the cold dark. Perhaps
my contribution will be heard
by another farther down this
asphalt river, someone in need
of a silver lining to fish
their thoughts from the muck.