Slipping

 I find that I can't read much anymore.
 I see the spaces and the page too much.
 I'm far too tired to chase the end of me in tales.

 I'm pretty sure my eyes are planning on
 leaving me behind. They're always looking
 for the gaps; those places where the curtain's torn.

 They see that effortless, endless white.
 That silent ground for which they long is
 leaking through and misting everything with joy.

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