Monday, September 29, 2014


She is calling me out again.
 Come and play, she says.
If it's worth grieving for,
It's worth destroying.

I have no strength for it.
I have surrendered to it.
I have no talent for it.
 I suffer like I bleed,
Jagged edged, of problematic depth.

She snarls. She wants me dead.
 Die, she says then,
 Die in your wrath, and then you'll rise.

 I rise.
I wrap the tattered cloak of my love around me, And rise howling.

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