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Writer's pictureMolly Cole

Poem i wrote in my head on the way home

Everyone is always coming and going

Leaving and arriving

Im lost in the minutiae of things

Intermingled with past and present

Present and future

Now and here

What even am I?


The abundance is overwhelming and actively forgetting

Yet actively accepting

Is a confusing way to live.

We have it all and nothing and love never really stays

Its always in danger of leaving us

That's why it makes us feel so special

And sometimes we grab hold of it a little too hard

Keep it in a strangle

And it no longer wants us


I sit here looking for pain

Wanting for it to wash over me

So I can feel less subjective

Searching out certain names until I hear them called less and less


I stand in the crowd swaying as your eyes glint over us all

Im looking at you and I can't tell if you're looking at me

Can you see me looking at you?

While flashes of purple extend your reign

Over the atmosphere


You're doused in red until the trumpet blares

And the wind of your voice simmers

Filing down into nothing

As fast as it came

And it was everything.

And I can't stop thinking about you

And how pleasant that night was

While I was swarmed by colors and reflections off the disco ball.

and i got to dance with women who really really get it.


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