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epigramme: on an ancient scroll

there is a special type of lonely
         that only a few are fortunate enough to feel
     it's the kind surrounding you
         even when you are surrounded by your closest friends
         a lonely that hunts you
           in a tall forrest
           and is just one step behind you
           as you run
                     snatching breaths of cold air
                     into lungs that are by now sore

and when you stop and turn on your heels
no one is there
no one
       no one

now you are floating out over the center of the galaxy
and there are no rules
nothing you can count on
just time and space
and the memory of when you could trust in something sacred
        something sure

we mostly call out
          after nightmares where lovers leave
          "tell me it's not fleeting,
           tell me something's real."

but really there is no safety in this life
and there never was
just the illusion that mommy made
and we threw away
when some other person came along and said, "I love you"
with a straight face
turned 'round on their toes
then sailed on as if your love
            was a choice on a menu
            and not an sacred epic text on an ancient scroll