busy tearing
suicide notes
knackered in the
wattled cotes
the darkest hours
of the noon
neath the shadows
of the moon
no wonders
i am crying
i am already

this has all
happened before
whenever you walk
outside your door
you feel ,you know now
what you are
just another person
at the war
you smile at them ,
they shoot you down
you die before
you show a frown

some eyes will weep
and mourn for you
some will smile
in scorn for you
but for reasons
yet some or all
are same
at the end of fall
that you die
before you wanted to

and yet they tell
they are clean hands
and that too
they understand
your sorrows,
but goodness does not
drip from nose
and you not know them
how so close
even the holiest
was born nude



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