An Internal Exchange Poem by Michael Timothy Rose

An Internal Exchange



When I am not apathetic, I am falling to pieces.
I pick my limbs from the ground daily
Because they casually detach from my body.
No blood sprays. The openings are still as gelatin. These pieces
Are falling from regret. I find I often live in it,
More so than I deny myself to live in. It is an ironic reciprocation,
This exchange of regret for mangled minds.

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