Measured words, calm and heartless.
Your tone never wavered from flatline apathy.

Heatless, heartless, chilled and dead
Each syllable a dull thump on the coffin nail
And a shovelful of dirt on the mute lid.
Reaching back, I can remember the days when
Touching my mind was the sole delight of yours.

I realize, of course, it's all my fault. The
Scythe that severs all is of my own whetting.

Do you think back on the days of rose glass and green, when
Every moment was a glowing spark of life? I think, and feel,
And know what I have crushed beneath my weight of being, flesh too
Dense and numb to feel myself, my life, extinguish.


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