I'm sorry I say
over and over again. I can't stop apologizing for the things I have done, haven't done, won't do will forget to do, will eventually do, was destined to do, yet all she says is Stop Stop Stop. I stare into the books of her eyes, the story of her life written in a spiral inside the stormy iris, clouded by the mistakes she made. I made, we all made on this tiny little Earth, in this tiny little galaxy in this tiny little universe inside the stormy iris of a God who perhaps can make mistakes too.
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PoetryBecause all that science just gets old after a while. Archives
October 2019
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