There is no more room

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Have I grown into my skin
Or have I outgrown what I was, once?
Please contact my next of kin,
There may not be another chance.

No, this is not a cry for help –
At least, I do not think it so.
Festering I am not. Neither do I ‘glow’.
This is the hand which I was dealt.

Where our fault lines meet :
I pray we chose the right pages to skim,
I pray my ruptures remain thin,
I pray you don’t fall,
I pray you don’t look down at all.

Because there is nothing of worth, down below,
Save for the river in which my memories flow.

Hold on tight or I hope you can, swim.
I’ve run out of life
vests – there wasn’t even one left for me.

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