Remain with me a moment,
Old Lady.
No.
Gotta go.
No time for dead selves –
When I became nameless.
Old scars remain,
From old bodies.
Old Selves.
Ones we wept over,
As we broke their necks.
Metaphor remains a deadly weapon,
But a rather feeble shield.
But meat & bone needs no shield.
It cannot last.
Ones we wept over, As we broke their necks.
