I was nearly new
When i started feeling you
Slip through my fingers
But I kept looking through
Every bit of you that lingers.
-and, like having one, or two
(I saw no issue)
In your split nerves
Or the few
Times you stayed-
So I let you grow into
These decayed tendrils,
Who are blue,
And cut through;
If only to be conveyed
As someone who
Wouldn’t gut you too.

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