this approximate tongue does nothing for hurt. words feeling of nothing, barren of what is absolute
a loss to have lost her.
she lost in this lost world of losses-
lost souls unforgiving of a girl tryna find-
she went finding herself on tuesday at 2:46 PM, lights began to dim at 3:02 PM, so low they got 3:12 PM, until she finally lost her way
tuesday 3:27 PM.
repeat for 5,222 days,
five thousand two hundred and twenty two.
they liked her that way- lost and confused. lost is so easy to control, you know. tell ’em right is left, left right, circle a square and on they go asking for direction still. she the creator of her map, them the keepers.
lost, still loss.
it isn’t out of naivete that lost keeps on believin’. their heart, like all hearts, their soul, like all souls, are made of the totality of truth- knowing up from down, knowing lost from found.
those lost ones,
those terribly lost ones,
are made lost.
she, ripped from insides that pulsed wisdom, moulded into lost, of loss. she forgot that she ever knew how to get back, to find her way, to cast light into seeing. she forgot that she pulsed wisdom, that those unforgiving of her were lost too. she forgot, so lost in her loss of herself; this loss losing her into their lostness again.
she forgot what found felt like.
may she now remember.