like ink it’ll
swirl around your head
twisting turning
shifting shapes
and carry you away
when you lie in bed
to caverns dark that
you try in vain to escape
like smoke it’ll
creep up the curtains
crawling up the
fabric with octopus tentacles
and though you dust
your room
sweep it with a
broom
and mop it clean
tidy up neat
try as you might to
deodorize it
it clings to the
corners with spidery feet
and in your closet
and in your clothes it’ll persist
waiting patiently
for melancholy’s next visit
how long can you
hold the ache at bay?
it’ll slip in every time they say
so much as her name
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