Never Happened
Some stunt that happened.
Combining brain power and blanket creases.
Or plopping down with my eyes.
Or adjusting and clearing my throat the whole time.
Time, rushed, guidance.
Two weeks and nuance.
Heightened normalcy.
Some stunt that happened with nuance and scribbles.
I still have some of that pencil lead screeching, hopefulness…
They don’t burst- they’re just not that glamorous after all.
So nothing happened.
I’m a dry, cobwebbed throat.
With eyes that never happened.
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