As I look back over years and pages
tens of thousands of words
a shamefully long list of various fiascoes
(some ending better than others)
my latent reason for writing
many lines so cryptically
jumps out at me:
after X amount of time
(in the form of pay stubs
ripped movie tickets
admission bracelets
and yes, empty bottles)
even I don't know what I meant
by some of it, especially the drunk little #s
that read like the yarns of a stubborn general
from the side that lost the war.
But it's not a code I want to crack.
Whatever all those subtleties meant then
doesn't matter now.
Putting them down pretty
made it better at the time
and my enigmatic darlings
made it easier to forget.
Forgive yourself, it's time.
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