multiples

people tend to forget.

it’s not always one particular moment.

there isn’t one haunting memory.

it’s a flashback while i’m cooking my dinner.

a speck of dust that floats by my eye.

small minuscule pieces that form the night sky.

a sliver of anxiety anytime someone approaches me.

small weakness.

simple words.

grains of debris that form one massive pile of shit.

i’m tired of smelling it.

exhausted from excuses.

“i’m sorry” changes to “it’s not your fault.”

that gaze of pity tells me otherwise.

stop looking at me like that.

however, i put on a smile.

“you’re right,” i mutter.