I got lost searching for myself;
Somewhere between the wrinkled
sheets full of cigarette burns
with just the right amount of singe
around the edges to keep them from
completely unraveling.
Somewhere beside the cum stains
that morph like ink blots
or cumulus clouds
if you stare at them long enough.
I got lost searching for myself
inside bottles and cellophane
and razors
and mirrors
and dim smoky rooms
filled with deafening whispers
and fingers
that always seemed to
point right at me,
and in me,
and through me.
I got lost searching for myself,
and I found you.
And you found me.
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