Accretion: a poem

I don’t think I can do this anymore.
There’s someone new at the door.
When he wrote you did you cut-and-paste?
I used to think it was good to be chaste.
During off-hours trains stop here.
I won the race every year but last year.
There’s a new sheriff in town and it ain’t me.
In my dream I loved you inconclusively.
Soon they will bring me to the light.
When I’m on edge everything is a slight.
Or is it the ledge—pass go, collect two hundred?
I won’t be OK until you’re undead, she said.
But it’s already too late: my dear, I’m dead too.
I thought by now I would have forgotten you.

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