When will I learn my lesson?
Sometimes they’re not so quick to learn.
Still, we take turns,
myself and I,
to turn blind eyes,
smile with hard cheeks,
and be awash with mystery.
Beneath the wall it’s hiding:
comes out to play, this misery.
I never fail – precisely when
I’ve struck the lens on gold
just then –
to surprise myself,
or
is it that I never fail
to not surprise myself?
I bore myself.
I’m fucking bored of climbing miles;
I’d swim the Nile to get back here.
I swear,
I fucking despair.
But round and round in circles
I go
until the road is paved.
I know
the centre shaves the edge off,
and I fall in upon myself.
It’s all I’ve known
to act this way –
habit dictates no difference.
It’s difference that will make me change.
It’s them I blame –
they’re all the same.
Can someone show me difference?
I need you to be different.

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