If I drop myself on the floor,
Can I still devour myself to the bone?
The core of the matter is, of course,
That I am unable to pick myself up.
Not from the floor,
Not from the pieces of myself,
I keep losing and scattering all of the time.
I would rather say, truthfully, I'm underwhelmed
With all the things I set out to accomplish.
Except you
And except them, and all the moments
That weren't truly ever of my own making.
All I now am was the library books I never lend,
And the fines that accumulated.
It's rather pathetic.
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