Branched Vessel

​My heart is becoming just a vessel for time, a memory flesh full of when’s and here’s
Mornings, early to rise, late to think

For myself while walking to meet those

Who don’t know anything deep inside of my head and on the surface, chipped like ice chips, nicked by skates

In the winter, crisp air flooding my branches, but my leaves won’t fall, clinging on to me

Because for once something feels the need to be attracted to be, attached

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