Extinction of Self

The edges of the sky are peeling off
and dead words are falling from your tree;
you have not the stamina to continue this fiction
that is consuming itself from the outside in,
from the first and last pages inwards.

Reaching the heart of the story,
one finds all at once, once and for all,
no past remains, no future held;
and silence plays throughout,
as the ink dries up and disappears.

Working through the rubbled narrative,
picking out twisted shards and scorched papers,
which once sang out of belonging
but now speak of nothing
and have withdrawn all allegiances.

The sound of letters hitting porcelain
as your features dissolve
and fall through your fingers
from the mirror into the sink;
last words forming spirals
and nobody left behind.

Alex Lewin 24/6/2013


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