Down the doom-less days
I tumbled.
Like cracked stairs
they were ...
unwholesome
in their neediness
that I
could not express
...never.
Glancing in the shadows
of my past,
I find
saviors
pleading
for a mercy
none can bestow,
and my remorse turned
a blind eye
long ago.
The price to continue,
I found,
was wrought tough
like rotten wood
slumping into piles
of discarded hope
that sparks of happiness
left untouched,
untarnished.
Nothing can register
the chill
of lonely days.
Ennui creeping on
like a starving tiger
beyond the point
of hunger:
his cool breath,
my white neck.
Tomorrow the hunt ends,
but the hunters have all left,
swallowed by the Beast.
A hunger with no sate
eats away the darkness
and the light
until all is negated
and I am
alone.
Stairs with no bottom
reach like desperate tendrils,
endlessly reaching.
I can hear their cries
as I fall
into myself;
snapped splinters etching
my outline
into eternity.
...Will you fall from Grace?
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