Did we gradually lose the respect or did we forget to plant its seeds?

Addicted to the spitting words with which we tease,

We wilt away, quietly, with each growing weed. 


Holding on to a blink of promise

Within scattered pangs of fondness,

We keep trying as if we’ve given up too soon.


Returning, again, as if our minds have airbrushed the bruises in ‘us’.

Spaces of time sweeten a smile,

murmured offence left waiting hostile.


As deep as our impressions, cut earliest,

We have thinly scratched surfaces.

I’ve stopped asking

And you don’t listen,

Still we wonder why there are pieces missing. 


The voicing ‘we’ is thrown around, as if we are deaf to its company

of hollow hope and fractured promises,

as if we are more than a blank page.


Returning, again, we seek shelter,  

Safe here from emotion. 

Procrastinating with convenience,

We ride time in unspoken agreement.


Ambling in ‘Us’


Kitty Montague

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