New Poetry Wednesday: Swim


Embroiled, buried under the words
Words written in the past
Cannot remember the torture
Pressed into their ink yet
It is there to taunt as if
I have never grown or left
Even with it splashed across
Fraying yellowed pages
Want to think it is nothing
None to convincing
Have to stop falling,
Falling into the past
Where I die with every pass
Leave it on the page
The proper place and
Not a swimming pool
Blood, ink, and tears
Fantastic currents
But not to swim upstream

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