anxiety and worry · Digital drawing · Emotional warfare · Life · meloncholia · poetry

NmBc 16e

Will I see you, future?

Can I talk to you, Past?

I know I am always with present second.

Then if all these gather at one point.

They will do what it means necessarily to see me,

In strings.

Be torn apart.

Will I ever separate all of ’em.

Or can they . . .

In harmony

In balance

On a prescence.

Whatever it and may it all be.

Then all of it will be in thought or memory.

Or can I apply all things daily.

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