Poem 130

I reorganized the biography section in the library today:

I wrote my autobiography on a match box, and set the thing on fire. I wanted to feel real but not permanate. Wanted to be true but not trapped. Would rather be lost than locked away… So I broke the ropes and swallowed the key…
                                               boxed the lock behind my bones,
                                                                                                   pocket the locket until I forgot it.
                  And now I know what it mean to own my life…
         Own mysef, burn to embers start anew…
Do you?


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