Michael Collins

short, distorted conversations
a billion eyes redefining isolation

he gently wipes off condensation
to see the space between himself and all his loved ones

and the void staring back
a color darker than black
one small step for a man
but a giant loop for the man confined

snow falls like a million sparkles
these moonlit streets have turned from straight lines into circles
in orbit with my precious setbacks
I disconnect, too ashamed to ever get back

and in hindsight it seems like the most of my teens
were spent rehearsing for this disappearance act

am I biding my time or just left here behind?
I sure know how to bring myself down, please, come pick me up



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