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Conscious Of It

only when I think about it
only when I’m conscious of it
only sometimes, I
think of you as alive

maybe I should have
gone to your funeral
maybe I should
have seen your body
maybe I could have seen
the color of your skin
or the needle marks
near your lips
they used to keep
your mouth together

maybe I needed
to see these things

but I don’t know
if I was ready
I still don’t know
if I am ready

maybe if I went
I wouldn’t have so
much to say to you
maybe I wouldn’t
expect you to come back

maybe then I wouldn’t want
to touch your face
and feel your skin

maybe it would be
easier that way


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