Latched

I walked away. I did.

I failed to see the strings still attached,

the cable wired to my head

to replay

the days during the days during the days.

The smell, the ichor from inside

clinging to me, polluting my thought process

so I cannot build the pathways forward.

I have to sever this connection,

wash away the dirt

so when I look in the mirror,

I see myself and not the paint.

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