© Brian Sullivan
when the glassy eyes refract the light?
beneath the glow of the waning crescent
the other half of my whole
as the door creaks open
the little sliver of darkness sneaks in
reflecting off the brick wall
bouncing back to ricochet again
a game of racquetball
again here then to there
following with my eyes til they crash
for the third time
maybe its the fourth
learning nothing but seeing
denial in the inevitable
it will happen again
when the never seems possible
thats when the fun begins
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