they go back and forth in infinity,
destined forever to birth a new day, everyday,
and kill it before birthing the next.
now they've lost their shiny veil
moth eaten and slashed in places
gaping wounds that tell a tale
wounds so large they ooze of pain
and dark viscous matter—some say it's ache
as soon as night prepares to slaughter
the remnants of an ageing day
the wounds dilate, bleed agonizing misery
ectoplasmic tar of ancient history
The night weeps with grief
and stifles the day
tears a trickle of sigh and woe
dark pain a river of hurt
that finds a way into your sleep
shrouds of gloom to dismember your dream
and if you are awake
they become your ink.
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