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Am I not what you remember?

Surely it not the lusterless skin adorning my eyes.

The way I’m winged to spit words back at you.

I’m tempted to laugh in your face the way the world has hardened

me to do.


But I shall not, for I see the horror evident in your eyes.

So what is it you came for my old lover?

A settling of old thoughts over what might have been?

A rekindling of some sort?

Unfortunately I can tell you do not prefer the latter.

Yet, I am not as corroded as you imagine,

In my unfathomable depth I am the same dreamer as I’ve always been.

But this world is not kind to dreamers.

Scratch the film from your eyes, this is reality.

Bag your screaming dreams and drop them off the edge,

Take the hand life dealt you and fold, old lover.

Winning is a one in a trillion.

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

The world is certainly not kind to dreamers, hence the hardening of the psyche referred to earlier in the poem. The last three lines are potent, and the imagery conjured is terrifyingly true.

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

I had trouble with the ending til I lost a few card games with the family. But thank you for the comment

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