Trampling Ground

And this ache refuses to leave

I have been a hospitable host
made up his bed,
turned down the sheets
each morning,

he has outstayed his welcome.

Kick-back
hooves,
I have become a
trampling ground,
Dust settling
in my life line
where fates are fused.

crisscross my palm
and read me my
rights,
hope to die
if I cannot put my faith
in something,
someone,
anything
other than myself.

And this ache refuses to leave

Refuted claims of love
replace the clockwork,
spring cleaned headspace
I try to keep
clean as spring water,
but muddied by my own
reflection.

Morn-strewn bedsheets,
I have watched with
fearful intrigue,
Blowing dust
from my palms
where fates have focused
their fevered penance
on me,
and me alone.

And this ache refuses to leave.

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