My boredom stares unblinkingly at me,
it is I who turns away from it's gaze.
I judge my happiness and self-worth
by the numbers between my feet.
Self: what name would I have given
myself at birth?
Inaction and failed patterns of behavior
are cancer within me.
My hands have only ever acted out
the whims of their master.
If I were water I would act and retain
no memory of my actions.
Sand can only remember in the moments
between disturbances.
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