unpumped blood

I pulled my
childhood down from
dusty shelves,
opened an album
I never felt
a part of.

I flipped past the pages of a three decade paradox,
asked how so much was lost.

Saw one parent age,
another abstain,
siblings outgrow,
but it was I
who changed

for they were only acting out their path.

I pulled my
youth’s ghost down and
felt a chill,
a void to
fill I’d have otherwise missed,
jumping kiss
to body
and climax,
evicted from feeling en masse.

And if that’s apathy knocking
trying to peddle a romanticized
past,
then emotional
collapse is
merely a cognitive subtraction of
the heart’s
liabilities.

The only part that’s
killing me is
unpumped blood.

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