Monday, August 18, 2008


Darkness spreads, voracious cancer,
Eating at my sun;
Consuming, feasting, swallowing
Until its work is done.

It’s cold, bone-chilling, numbing,
Whispery and vague;
I wander through this pitch-black land
Haunted as a grave.

My lips are bound, choking words
On crimson thread;
I dare not speak, dare not think;
I am already dead.

My hands broken, useless things,
Holding nothing, grasping still;
What I need slips, water-thin,
I never get my fill.

The edges of my poisoned wound
Blood darkens, lingers, seeps;
Stains body, soul, and mind;
Vanishes in the deep.

Silence beckons, smothers, soothes,
False peace to lay my head;
I wander lost, in dark unending;
I am already dead.

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