You.
You are glowing with a pride I haven't seen before.
You are telling me what to do.
Your eyes are the words I could never say.
Your lips, the thoughts I never felt.
In design, your body motions me forward. And I fall away. It scales me, though I pull back. I am not here. But you are.
In my prison, I am a slave to both. But that is a lie. The curse of the prison.
Permanently, have I really been changed at all? Should I have been the active, rather than the passive? Have I stopped to breathe? Will I replace it all again?
Rebounding, I am led toward uneven pavement and pond rings and complacency and shuddering. It's eating me.
Can it be explained so simply? What, am I a child? Am I incapable of this?
I stare at the questions I pose. And they pose me.
Grant me serenity
Instead.
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