the small death

The small death comes in the morning
when my eyes open and yours arent there
the small death comes in the evening
when the sun is gone and all thats left is my mind
the small death is an old friend
comforting and soft tho still razor sharp
poised to strike. waiting for weakness.

the small death is a long war
the attritional victory march into hells great glory
I don’t trust my own mind
twisted and broken it lies and schemes
until I have no choice but to believe it’s errant ramblings
glimpses of history to come and histories past
rain like splinters of glass

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