This is the part where no one knows who

This is the part where no one knows who
is breaking whose heart–despair puts on
its angry party dress, now where are you
rolling that stone, time to tell.

It rushed you so fast, there was none of that
mumbo-jumbo of mildly stepping aside
to let it pass by on its own momentum.
Or maybe you were just slow, it nailed you.

You surprise yourself–how willing you are
to get down and scrap, the fury that fills up
all that emptied out past, retroactive
anticipation of future pain.

Still, terrifying to know that’s some
version of you in the mirror. First
there is only time and then an outside
with only part of you in it.

You envy now the magic of actors,
all present, every outside has reasons–
inside here, such reckless motivation,
the implosion, then the spinning out.

. . .

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