The descent


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It starts with the small cracks

pushes through the crevices, tiny ugly blobs, remnants

of unconscious sighs.

Tar-black and reeking

of discarded hope, it whimpers

snuggling into the wounds

like all the puppies you’ve lost as a child.

In moments of loneliness it whispers

Coaxes you to feed, to nourish yourself

From its dark, dreary milk and

You gnaw, half-hearted

Like you do at cold food

A day too old to eat, but too much of a waste to throw out.

It starts from within

Swirls of disappointment, internal chaos and black, black death

And before you know it, you are all topsy-turvy

Too mangled and ugly for anybody to save

Like a mouse hanging from cat jaws

Like a forlorn napkin, held by a single peg

Against a raging storm.

 

 

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