the echo of a leaking faucet.
I caught it in between my teeth and chewed
at it like an idea,
a philosophy,
a year and a half left before I leave,
just another thought to wedge between
my two wisdom teeth.
I’ve been waiting for them to break through my gums
for three years,
like a newborn child, like a toddler,
gnawing at my skin to get the pain away.
there is hope, in time.
sundials spin like glass days and
the shadows on them change over the years;
an oak grew foot by foot by yard
and now it swallows up the hours like water.
this will past faster than I think.
I am so broken, sometimes,
so lost and caught in a sob when I say,
“I don’t know, I’m just SAD,”
but brokenness is only a contrast;
it is black now, black enough to blind,
but I’m sure, somewhere, it’s just my numb hands covering my eyes.
the sundials spin,
dance out from the shadows of tree limbs,
and the oak is spat out from its own mouth.
I chew on new teeth,
and swallow time like water.
Spoiler! :
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