Tricky

I find myself still wanting
beloved and adored
the curse of having fallen
face planted to the floor.
Decades lost to sacrifice
the writings on the wall
just a skip past circumstance
I find I’ve done it wrong.
Never looking back-not a choice
just a fact
cannot turn a neck that’s twisted
this way over that.
I find myself still wanting
singing words of lunatics.
I find myself still haunting
the days old tired myths.

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