When does realism turn
things said in love
into sharpened daggers that pierce
a knife through filet minogue
raw flesh that bloodies when touched.

How can't I tell
when those moments have happened,
the door swings shut & locks
a Berlin wall that appeared
without anyone noticing.

Now I'm left in long hallways
thousands of doors invite discovery
& all I want to do is make my way back
to where I was.

It's shut, locked, closed forever
glimpsed like a keyhole memory.
After inevitable comes the reality
An ending turned negative with love.

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