She Pushed My Love With Her Borderline (mailed to me after she…)

Gray – a theoretical color –

Lives in your strata-yellow eyes:

While I sit in your waiting room,

Eager for my demise.

Upon reflection,

I should have been meaner.

(a boss years ago gave me some advice:

“don’t let an asshole make an asshole out of you, so…)

My pacifism 

Served me passively. 

And merely hours later,

Four years folded into a dream – 

Was it a dream?

Our every interaction?

Trapped in this

Stockholm Syndrome

Syndrome?

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