Tales Of Fortune

The void exists, even 
as my enemies sleep -

cotton-white 
and balled; shaped,
in my mouth as a fist 
that suffocates confession.

My guilt adheres 
as a second skin that gloves
my hands’ decisions.

Under the air raid lights, 
heart and battle lines clenched
as we crouched, retrenched -
our fates redirected,
as limbs bent askew.

My teeth were whore-worn,
licked by too many lies.
My eyes no longer aim true.

My lips were aged and mute…
Even to you, old friend,

Even with you.

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