Repeat, but new

I’ve done this all before.
I thought the feelings were new.
I could not cry
And wondered why
But it’s nought to do with you.

All the aching words slip out
And leave their mark in blood and ink.
I do not need mourning devout
I grieve through rhymes that cut and sink.
Do I know myself more at last?
Is this who I’ve come to be?
All I am
A slip of parchment
Drifting on a breeze?

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