Once and Again

I am in pieces.
Or always.

Either way,
I am only fragments
of who I was
or should be.

I’m not sure why.

Why I’m broken
so infinitely,
so vastly shattered
that I can’t see me anymore.

But…did I ever really see me?
Did I ever trust the words
falling from my own lips?

I’m not even sure of that anymore.
I’m not sure of anything.

Because I’m parsed out
among ruins of something
I’m supposed to call my life.

I am echoes in empty canyons,
reflections in disappearing puddles.

I am once and never.

I am nothing.
Or always.
I’m not really sure.


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