three images of an unidentified subject combing their hair in the morning.

oh my, circumstance strikes
the interesting memories
from chance,
in some steady contemplation
holding shit from others
that was never meant for
them, anger struck a chord
ringing without my recollection
and focusing in on whatever
is the newest thing to hate,
listening to an old sound that’s
been shattered, looking down
in the thereafter, a chance and
haphazard impossibility
presented itself, where there
could have only been two
outcomes, a binary of one
or the other, the pendulum
sat constant and with itself,
strangely, it no longer needed
anyone, but is was a singular
stance, only for me, and broken
as soon as anybody else
had the wherewithal to notice.