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Thursday, 19 October 2017


I am but wax, melting... flooding through my fingers
My woeful finale, a gloopy hot mess stuck to the carpeted floor
Stretched beyond shape, only to fall into an unconscionable heap 
Even I, myself, could not name my boneless, brainless form

I'm an impressionable soul, empathic of the voiced climate around me 
A changeable state; hacked at, cold shouldered and burnt 
Wasted water, am I, whirling down from another failed faucet 
The recalcitrant stain, scrubbed in deep; a stark chalked outline of my once-self  

Ashen, my complexion, as my blood has long since been squandered
Limp, my wick... chard and frayed; split (yet hidden) to its core 
My luminance lost, a dirty mere smudge or am I  still a lingering shadow  
My portrait effaced, propped high on bolstered pillows...

It will not be long...  
before I heed my call

© Debbie Razey 2017