Self-imposed hope patterns
Will always compensate
for the tumultuous inner healing
with unexpected peace imports
showing up blinking minutes before too late
A matrix of self-curing forces
enclosing the grief,
Chasing its chimeric shadows
back into the depths of immune relief
Ignoring the cold call of the old flesh and blood
Pursuing instead
the imaginary chords of an unheard echo
Ticking the midnight chaos subtleties
A deceiving emotional trail
for two strangers’ vanities-bonfire effigies
turned into ashes
raving and raging about fitting
to the same Procrustean bed
we’ve been looking forward to sleeping in
blazed into prescription memories
Whose seemingly worse symptoms
get amputated by faith.

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