Confusion (VIII)

There are too many wounds to cauterise.

And bleed do I from every open slit,

A plastic red impaling dreadful lies.

Each droplet bids the rock-cold heart be split,

To feel and love again. The sun will rise:

The spring will pass the homeless in the street.

The mists confuse the sadly roaming flies—

Around the lonely candles they still flit.

Like daggers in my heart I stab the seams

That sew me in this bladder with no light.

Images blur my eyes, yet nothing seems

As real to me as this unending night.

My life is lost, and fading is my sight,

But Time will never snatch me from my dreams.

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