I
Summon gravity to the interstices
Of my unraveling.
Mass does produce only as minute
A cohesive force as the silky strands
Of my sanity.
My words
Like my feelings
Intermingle and confuse and pollute
Fray at the ends.

I,I
Paint myself on paper
To bind my mind
As a rope
It goes around my neck
A guillotine

Losing
Losing air.

As air is emptiness
Emptiness escapes me
Neither filled

A vacuum.

I,I,I
Implode.

Traceless.

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