yet

I met a rusty old soul
who lived in the caves of my body
always crying and swearing
it liked to paint the walls
and was upset that nobody could see them

I met an always hungry mist
that fed itself with its own tears
when it ran empty
I offered my only endless tear
and it refused

I met her in my poetry
and even in real life
but somehow meant to be apart
I screamed so hard
when I realized I’m

yet to meet myself

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