Let it be.

My heart will not sing effervescent
Of my fatal acquiescence
For what becomes this day.
Though if a single victory is won
It would not leave my fate unspun
To coil round a better way.
The flies of death gnaw my flesh from within
It leaks from my bowels, nose eyes and skin.
This prison I know
Pain so personally alone
Rotten like some uttered mortal sin.
If this were bleach running thru my veins
It might be some relief, should I dare to phrase.
To the world I am naught.
Wiped clean like a page.
Or a sacrificial turn,
Like a book that was burned.
To heaven I refuse to offer a cry
As if by so living I’m a putrid lie.
Let it be.


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Filed under poem, poetry

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