A poem entitled Schism


This is not the first death

And it is sure not to be the last.

Simply another piece of emptiness

I have collected from my past.

Yet I mourn so quietly

And the body is not even cold.

I may kiss her dying lips

But I could never be so bold.

Eyes that once could only focus

On her existence, her life,

Now train themselves to see the sickness

And ignore her helpless cries.

I have pity, I have insanity, I have tears

But I cannot let her live.

She is helplessness and fear

And I have nothing left to give.

Would she call me heartless

Or would she understand?

It doesn’t matter now

I have her blood on my hands.

I am sorry I am silent

I cannot speak of her anymore

I never thought this would last

So it is this grief I will ignore.


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