every future making a new past to never be lived again

poetry

my heart is beating
sweeping arpeggios
like i was 16
and clowns are
rushing through my
limbs and brain
but i am wide awake
and aware that
four years difference
is sobering at best,
and behind the laughs
of the clowns there
are drunks and whores,
and behind the arpeggios
there are veins.

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