Death Calls From Not Long Ago

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Raw lines

slip from the corner

of thawed eyes

shattered in slowness

of overwhelming disgrace

streaming from my face

goes the purity I once called breath

now I am inhabited by gorges

and craters that leave me speechless

vast emptiness unexplained

unfulfilled

except for when paper is placed before me

and I have a certain time to kill

I hate violence until it’s for you

I hate flesh unless it’s poetic

to chew and digest

these words not yet my best

I tinker and toy without rest

not because I’m a proofreader

but a mercy seeker

ravaged by a past I only bow to

and ask for subtle forgiveness

I must scorch your hearts

with the brand of my missteps

the blood of a poet

is never ending ink

unfinished is his business

until the grim reaper

does sit upon his grey chest

and his heart

he drinks

 

 

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