permanently muddy these days

 my once verdant gaze floats

 in a pool of dark circles

delirious contusions, dark tidal’s

churning with debris of futility

there… where my eyes drowned

(as gracefully as they knew how to…)

the exhaustion and the contempt

forming ashen galaxies across my face

a gravitational pull in every blink

i exist there, somewhere

behind a blindfold

made of brooding skies

 and contemplate my mouth

smudged and swollen

for all the wrong reasons


a. duncan, 2018



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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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