Dark Poetry

Endings

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I feel it in my bones,
the creasing,
the cracking,
the giving away.

The losing of will,
the dying embers of my spirit.
The bleakness that descends
like the static white noise
signalling the end of a broadcast.

How can the silence,
the dead
be this deafening –
how can the hollowness
of this desolate heart
be so substantial,
become so burdensome?

Unfeeling,
unmoved,
unaffected –
like the cold, still stream
flowing downhill,
I flow
unrestrictedly.

Hah, who am I kidding?
The frostbite surrounding my heart
has began to make itself known.

Is this such a bad way to die –
choking on your own sorrow,
gagging on the coldness, the emptiness
that your frozen heart
keeps poisoning into your bloodstream?

*****

Sometimes I wonder,
why do you bother to cry,
when your tears merely falls
(again and again)
achieving nothing else.

Sometimes I wonder,
why do you give so easily
when you know you’ll eventually be broken –
is pain that addictive and satisfying to you?

And in the end,
I wonder,
why do I waste my time, trying to help you heal
when you foolishly give others power
to destroy you.

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