Poetry: ‘Your Name’ 

Your Name 

It’s 2:06.
I’m on this overnight train to Venice,
And your name is on my fingertips. 
On my tongue, behind my ears. 
Embedded within my deepest fears. 
Your name is haunting every inch of me, 
Like a ghost. My mind filled with this vengeful imagery. 
You make me become something I’m not. 
You make me seek something I wish I’d forgot. 
But all I want to know, is why your name only matters. 
At 2:06 in the morning, when I don’t have the energy to flatter,
Or kill, or crush, or quell your destructive designs. 
Why? Why do I only see you again when I’m helpless inside. 
Why do I even hate you so much? I think I’ve forgotten. 
Just know. Even at 2:06, your name still feels rotten. 

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