No muse to sit beside me
Fold layers into the inky depths
Viewing the stars from a shallow grave
No one at all can hear me breathe
Can they?
Inflicted with the malice intended for a few
Striking barbs dipped in acid not ink
Teeth bite a tongue to still the flow
I cannot breathe lest I be heard
Things appear larger than shallow intent
Cupped without compassion it bleeds
A target is easier than a mirror
I breathe in silence yet still fear being heard
Hearing the baying of hounds
Slipped of collars brandished in bones of the dead
Colours lack depth when painted in ink
A rusty blade strikes at acidic breath
I cannot dream you a butterfly
When the sunset bleeds
And I am a martyr to your death
In life I find it hard to breathe
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