slits on the wrist

the world owes me change,
with its beady eyes
slits of deceit,
conman in the making,
or just one,
always watching.

unpaid circumstance,
remunerate me!

but you can only see yourself in the mirror,
and the absence is stifling,
the blank black borders remind me
the photoframe fits one only.

my debt has piled higher,
mountains of pain,
valleys of shame –

perhaps, i owe myself the most.

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