Ten and Two

Rip the band-aid off fast.

Say it and move on.

So I can, too.

He keeps his hands

Glued to ten and two,

Knuckles pale like our

Worried faces and the moon

That watches the slow unravel

Of a year’s worth of string,

Wound too tight to breathe.

Eyes that wander to anything

But each other’s,

Following the road that

Leads to nowhere

Though the view is glorious.

He thinks about the pain

That the words won’t ease.

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