Ignoring the senses

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I hang on to his words.

 

I see not,

The darkness that he brought,

Nor the pink stain on his coat.

 

I smell not,

The hate on his breath,

Nor her perfume on his shirt.

 

I taste not,

The bitterness of his kiss,

Nor the blood on my lips.

 

I feel not,

The pain from his hits,

Nor the stings from the welts.

 

I hear not,

The plea of friends,

Nor the footsteps of death.

 

I pay a price.

 

I see,

Nothing behind these curtains.

My eyes closed before time for certain.

 

I feel,

The earth shoved on me.

The heaviness mounting.

 

I hear,

The deid bell jangle.

The shovels scraping.

 

I taste,

The gritty sand on my tongue.

The wetness of moist dust.

 

I smell.

The stench of my failure.

The fragrance of shangri’la.

 

Smelt too soon.

 

Because I hung on too long.

 

 

Image credit: Ractapopulous

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