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Xenos

June 10, 2013

seventyfive

Powerless.
I don’t even remember you.
Undressed.
Caressing my hand and crying into my chest.
Withered and worthless.
Weakened by a year lost in my thoughts.
The pure white snow-surgery you apply to your life.
The hateful shard of blue ice you wield to survive.
And don’t I need you now.
Don’t I need you to know how much I miss you, now.
But it won’t come.
My dream, my dirge, my One.
For the roar of the crowd, I can’t say it just so.
There is more.
And there’ll always be more.
The law of the lost.
Eating God.
Eating crow.
The rise of the dead.
Still stuck in my chest.
In my eyes.
In my bed.
White noise on the wire.
Cut loose and come clean.
I’ve nothing to lose but these memories of you.
The ghost from the machine.

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From → Poetry

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