in this place
there are the dead, the deadly and the dying.
there is the cross, the builders of the cross and the burners of the
cross.
the pattern of my life forms like a cheap shadow
on the wall before me.
my love
what is left of it
now must crawl
to wherever it can crawl.
the strongest know that death is
final
and the happiest are those gifted with the
shortest journey.
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