i swear it was profound. i think it was about life, death, love, and my most embarrassing fears – and it was raw, and it was chapped crimson … i said i wasn’t going to proofread it, and i didn’t, i got careless, so it melted away into the mud. it seeped down into a worm’s nest of zero, a hollow, temporarily useful tunnel, that will be crushed by many a foot, mathless, like me. so many imprints, they are kaleidoscopically indecipherable, and without calculation. imaginary in numbers, or not, i will regret that i pressed the wrong button and murdered a poem i was really looking forward to reading after it wrote itself (the way it did). and just like that, a life is gone.
now you’ll never know the real me.