A crystalline anticipation:
The dewy days when I was nothing and yet to be everything;
Hopeful as a breath to be exhaled into a promise
Delicate and transparent, missing
Nothing.
A shifting exaggeration:
The unknown days when I was no thing to be everything;
Slip'ry shale that crumbled into dusty blood and bone
Careening into angst, believing
Everything.
An ill-considered humiliation:
The frigid days when I was nothing and, yet, to be everything
To then exhale cold breath translucent on a sullied pane,
A clear, unalterable prism
A rigid penitentiary.
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