intrusive thoughts

René Magritte’s
this is not a pipe

a self portrait
this is not a life

you are infusion
i’m a drip chamber

i long
for your trickle

you see me
across the river

glaring at you
hurling chalky rocks

i need you to
teach me how to love

hearts don’t break
the tear

and sometimes they burst
at the seams

when they carry what
they can’t bear

silence is darkness
silence is a grave

it is the music of
the people who are

enslaved by
the words they never say

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