flexibeast.space - poetry
“Every cut a grain of salt”
Every cut a grain of salt atop my future barrow. Every cut a tightening; the noose around me narrows. Every cut an accident, just a side-effect. Every cut not personal, not targeted .... and yet. Every cut a grain of salt closer to the sky. Soon a cut will make the grains a heap And in that heap i'll die.
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