Death: Little by Little
I’ve killed myself many times over, but
I look remorselessly alive; or perhaps a shifting corpse at best?
I’ve looked myself in the mirror many times over;
Each time a little less miserable and more poised;
Pretences in dramatic crystal frames?
I’ve killed myself over little whiles and aeons;
Each time in violence, tears or fazed lulls.
I’ve killed many a self; in numbed pains, empty rooms and in disgrace,
Will I not wake before I sink again?
I’ve fought many a fight, slumped on my knees; yet stumbled ahead to light,
Will I not wake before I die again?
Many a broken cup have I shelved, until they began to resonate me;
Glazed shards, hastily glued together, ringing out a haunting monotony;
Found in night’s slow death and deathless churchyards.
Draw a curtain over the looking glass;
I’ll rest awhile before I bite the dust again.