i'll crawl up these stairs, one at a time.
i'll avert my eyes from the ghosts in shadows,
the ones that continue to follow where i go-
and all of a sudden we feel so far a-part,
and this corridor's orange and falling apart.
as my mother stands and stares at the sink,
i'll sit in the chair and finish my drink.
i'll curl up in the seat but i won't close my eyes.
the warmth of the fire can touch my insides-
like the sun on a run before a cool autumn night.
as i watch, in the corner of my eyes,
my father drains the dregs of his wine
and i'm climbing the stairs, one final time.
to find what i've been looking for all along,
to find who i am, before i am gone.
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