Motion of Time
What am I if not the offspring of my superfluous fling?
What is my infancy if not moments with you?
Memories replayed to the point that the reality died during labour.
Loss is a mentor in the cruel motion of time.
Time is an egoless pit scratching the life from your heart.
Joy is the echo of a sunlit day warming the cave left gashed in my mind.
Minds are a thing best left to die.
Try not to delve into their workings.
Try not to work with their company, alone.
Try to be reborn, and then born again.
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