one was to carry
with their
cold hands

the raw honesty
of this sad year

so spoils the garden
marred by the impurities
in my spirit

too many stars
befoul this night,
she says

and the soul too
small and wicked
for the body,

knocks around blankly
in the emptiness

of this mirror world
cruel in the scythe
of its repetitions

I relapse again

clangs the bell

the waters fall
and they fell

I split and scatter
like a train
plummeting all
the way to hell

, amen -smakka–bagms

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