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Magnetism

by Jasmine Murphy

Magnetism like a siren’s call.
Only, 
an ironic twist of fate
because I’m the one left dead in a masochistic game 
of nested Russian doll.

 

Plot worn thin.
Like my favorite revolutionary novel,
I flip the pages time and time again,
until they fade and crack and wither and break—
so timeless and epically great.

 

Enduring the destruction of self. 
Only,
to rise and beg to begin again.
The push and pull of tides beat with both our breaths.
Have you yet to learn they are one and the same?

 

Is this all just a game?
A loop to swoop us to the next dimension,
which is much like this space,
where your name I might mention
in another tonality but never finality.

 

Because— 
Time and space are infinite.
No need to be indifferent,
when people like us are bound.
Do you feel the magnetism now?

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