running into the sun
as the flames
lick high
at the lips
of time
and part the mouth
so subtle,
the fangs of
pain
become but a myth
moving deep
into the light
of an unforgiving
god,
high on its own
reflection
we live to breathe
and die
in the throws
of living too long
moaning screams
in deadly dreams
and hopeless
traps
set
by our own hands
continuing
martyrs of the cause
without pause;
our debt to remaining,
defaming our trials
by the burden of guilt
the end stumbles upon us
so slowly
that it quickens the pulse
as the blade dips further
and falls
as a razor
across the neck
of our own doing
the shame of
breathing,
our only sin
in the eyes
of sightless gods
bent on ambiguity
and in this
we are so alone
that the emptiness
weighs down
the stones
placed on our chests,
quarried
from the empty dreams
which we will never
awaken
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