Years subside

Twilight and daybreak intertwine.
Casting shadows and dawn on these eyelids.
People come and talk to me of passion.
Then they linger, and talk to me of death.
I feel stuck inside a moral station.
Watching the trains as I in decide.
I feel a murmur of god, yet the call of the wild.
Battling against the push of gravity.
No longer feeling its pull.
How the years have folded like a napkin in my lap.
Dirty and used.
Yet I wonder. I wonder if I’m hungry still.

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I did not choose this future, she said to the dark.
She said to no-one in particular.
They had departed, melted away like last year’s snow.
She waded through the slush of emotions and found her heart warmed.
Not by the sun rising off in the distance.
Or the hand-me-down blanket she wrapped her soul in.
The one she stole from a lover, course and mismatched.
But by the sense of knowing that the day was hers.
Ready to right the ruin.
As she climbed out of her tawdry despair.
Marking her name in red across the calendar date.
Setting fire to the watchtowers in her mind.