sonnet 8
This Death, this time, is not like all the rest.
Certain deaths spark new life: this one will not.
Before when we killed love, within our nest
We bled the bad blood out in time and shot
The lambs between their brows. But you’ll have forgot
By now those times we lived for chest to chest,
Forsaking this pleading beat. So your lot
Is quite simple. I already have fought
The hard battle when in my glass I slipped
The dew you drank, threw back, and I, I tripped
On the cool chill, the exhilaration
Of triumph over treason, as I gripped
The bitter chalice with motivation
To end as you, dead to all sensation.
Certain deaths spark new life: this one will not.
Before when we killed love, within our nest
We bled the bad blood out in time and shot
The lambs between their brows. But you’ll have forgot
By now those times we lived for chest to chest,
Forsaking this pleading beat. So your lot
Is quite simple. I already have fought
The hard battle when in my glass I slipped
The dew you drank, threw back, and I, I tripped
On the cool chill, the exhilaration
Of triumph over treason, as I gripped
The bitter chalice with motivation
To end as you, dead to all sensation.
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