to the lame ones

let’s not make haste,
or better yet,

witness time as it chases us;
bruised feet, broken arms, ruined clothes…
for once, let time become us.

I always sound boring after a while,
reason being
I get bored myself.

skin falls off, meat grinds,
bones crumble,
even the essence– dissipates.

paved roads look the same
street names are made of letters
boulevards never go in circles
and bridges connect nothing…
every human is an island onto itself.

boredom feels the same when it stays
it feels the same even after it goes.
our own lack of perspective, empathy, and perception
leaves us naked;
loneliness can’t be felt when one’s alone.


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