Why do we like to hurt so much?*

Strangers,

they always come in pairs.

October 2008-2

photo

They make me count my somedays once more –
like sheep hopping across my soul.

It’s a rerun, a replay. A return to that piercing moment.
And I can densely feel
the odds eating me up alive.

It pains going back to mapping out that sound spot for this feeble heart —
in the baffling wake-up calls;
every time I carelessly plunge;
as secrets brutally swivel beneath my toes.

And I’m drained from spitting the words over and f***ing over again,
“Thank you, goodbye. Thank you.”
like the cold blood in songs that cradle me –

back to being alone.

*Paramore

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