is a shark that bites the
surfer catching a wave,
free for the first time
and standing up on his own
a bitter pain swallows him whole
what's left of his fun
washes away with the
last of the sand
as he showers
and rests alone
the loneliness of love
is a worn and irregular shirt
that once fit perfectly -
at a time not clearly
remembered, it
looked amazing
protecting your
fragile skin
the sudden realization
that you don't want to
be the surfer
or the girl in the
forgotten shirt
a dilemma designed
to tear you in shreds
like the shark's sharp
teeth through the thin
remains of what is left
of the once perfect
sweater that you
know is wrong but
still persists in
your paradoxical closet
of things you know
you should give away
but are worried that you
might need someday
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