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black vortex
of self-importance
ignorant and intolerant
with the face of pride
and the barren mountain
of scarred and broken
self-created landscapes
from countless volcanic eruptions
tempered like hate
and bitterness so deep
he is
the nameless
and the forgotten
joyless and full of death
he shows me my reflection
a mirror of my becoming
like being around beggars
teaches you to beg
and being around solitude
teaches to forget
but dread grows toxic
and sorrow belongs
to the heart that hopes
I am alone he says
as devastating
and unrelenting
my suffering glares
back at me
like a scabbing wound
and he is like a razor’s edge
cutting deeper as I move
through truth’s ever elusive
I’ve excised myself
from the world
like this wound I can’t bear
to stand
and the pain I can’t bear
to take
but I am trapped
like an old man’s impotence
that cares not
for what it’s destroyed
unable to see
the prison of self-imposed
fatalism marching
sucking out all lightness
of what is good and whole
anger is all that’s left
in the underworld
of ends
I’ll die here
or maybe I died already
in a collector’s dream
cursed with a name
like persephone
that he claimed
and exploited like a secret
then couldn’t tend to
because Hades knows nothing
of nurturing
with more power
than he ever deserved
so I bleed it out
one day at a time
and learn to meet
the face of the inevitable
the practice of questioning
who am I
but a witness
in the complex matrix
of life
I learn to let go