• Bethany Stimac

my fated regress

again i get to sit, unkept

again i’m frittered, frayed


i would leave the floor,

quit being a rug,

and simply stride away


but i’m weaved of wires,

flayed in flesh,

unable to unearth this

heart i suppress–


and don’t have time

for my fated regress,


always running late anyways


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