i cut myself today
upon the thought of
when it is darkest(and
i look up in fear
who sees the reaper,
in drag: it comes to
all of us disguised)
like old familiar ways
so thin like the moon
on waxing days
and the world beats
some say in your head
of course we’ve lived
with how we cling to
our minds always
sharpest when comes fear
until i feel the familiar
sting that remembers everything
the purple flower’s largest
final air
is what we become my dearest
friend internal eternal
plunging everywhere untold
times
of enormous lost dreams
:: 07-18-2015 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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