bob

the passage of time
flows too fast,
like a river cutting sharply
around dulled gray rocks.
silk slipping through my fingers,
the colors of sunrise and morning
have flashed from pink to purple,
from brightness to darkness,
now from long hair to a bob.
the silver strands of time
never stop rewinding,
and the atoms of my body
continue vibrating and splitting.
when will I be a new person,
I wonder –
composed of different molecules
than the ones I was born with?

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