You do not exist.

You are not real.

You are mere figments
of this altered reality
I’ve created for myself
where one day
you will arrive
and take me
from this place
with him
and this
and it will be
all those years ago
when beaches
were close
and so were we.

You have always
been right
about these pieces
we’ve become
because I am fractured
and heartless
while pretending
I am full,
and you are
edges of razors
slicing your way
through memories
like swords
through silk.

You are only
these wired words
because you only exist
on these pages.

* * *

I wrote this last night but it sort of fits for the NaPoWriMo prompt to write an interrogative poem addressing the writing itself. It’s not exactly like the prompt but I’m alright with that. 🙂




One thought on “Existential

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