�� new old this that ��

12.04.03.9:03 pm

New poem...

Murder. Murder important to you, murder unimportant to you,

cross your heart, hope not to die, touch your upper lip with the carelessness of your last gasp, and move on.

There are murders that leave you and you breathe a sigh of relief

and wonder why you ever were exposed to them.

There are murders that leave you and you breathe a sigh of remorse

and wonder why they had to go away and leave such a gaping hole

in your chest

with that gun.

Children leave parents; victims leave victims; acquaintances move on. Murders change into only children.

Murders grow apart.

Enemies hate and move on.

Victims gasp and move on.

You think of the many who have moved into your hazy memory.

You stab towards those present in wonder.

You believe in a master plan for lives.

Your murders move in and out of each other's lives and each leaves it's mark on the rug.

You find you are made up of murders forgotten and near misses supressed - all who have ever been touched by the knife, and you are more because of it, and you would be less if they had not touched you.

Pray that you accepted your murder for the day.

Pray in humility and wonder,

and never question and never regret

even the murders forgotten

near misses supressed...

�� new old this that ��