Wednesday, November 4, 2020
In times of aloneness, I am not truly alone.
For I have long lived your life that life's old livings
are no more than a ficlet, or a dream.
I have long not lived, and I am tired of dying.
In my aloneness I prefer to stand alone,
and to breathe from my own breath,
to burn by my restless bets
of recklessness inquires,
than to have my skin shed from me
for a thing I didn't do.
Oh, my shadow, leave me then
as I am tired, so tired,
of dying with you.
Topic(s) of this poem: alone,death,life,shadow