is nearly dry. nearly empty.
i dip my pen
into the black bottom
and get the last few drops
of truth,
then i begin.
the first word leads me
to the last
on the clean white page.
i'm almost out of pain.
then what?
i'll need a new source
of anxiety and angst
to start again.
a new chaotic life with
someone new. but in
truth none are, most of
who i've chosen are
exactly the same.
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