Chest Compressions

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We’re no longer quite like ourselves.
I’ve watched from the depths of my mind,
the slow passing of time.
We learn to live in spite of ourselves.
I no longer see my own reflection,
we crawl in separate directions.
I’ve seen this fire dim and catch light.
Scattering my thoughts through the smoke.
Wish I could let them go, drift up to the sky.
But the things we say isn’t what we spoke.
Saving breath for the constant panic attacks.
Follow the righteous path of better men.
If the molds don’t fit, I’ll make my own.
Is some of the damage we endure permanent?
I’m afraid I fell in love with all of life’s questions.
And despise all its repeating answers.
I only wish I could explain.
Why we twist things then turn them away.
Because no matter where I move, I can hear you.
I can feel you. So is this in me?
I feel like I have this light in my chest.
Nothing special, nothing more than it is.
But I’ve felt its pulse.
Reminding me of love beyond what I can express.
Trapped between isolation and longing.
I’ve drifted through life without a face.
I can be anything you want, anything but me.
Coasted on dying truths, I disfigured my shape.
Shift my spine, so maybe I can withstand time.
Carve out my light, for me, keep it alive.
If all we are is what leave behind,
hide my bones, scatter my ashes.
Perhaps after I’m gone,
all we’ll have is compassion.

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