Song of the Inventory Manager

I looked in the back of my mind for the words that I had piled and discarded,
the momentary fragments of fractured text scattered across a dusty floor,
I reached for the thoughts I had once grasped with fiery intent and pride
only to find nothing, handfuls of grit and powder, scraps and off-cuts
a great wrenching absence, a lack of expression and explosive decompression,
my head caving in from the pressure and the emptiness
as I grasped for those sentiments never expressed
and nightmares barely repressed, my great heap of discarded discord
rotten food for uneasy thoughts, my last salvation and my past division
it’s all gone, stolen, pilfered and despoiled.

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