Punctured and Porous, I Become

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Punctured and Porous, I Become

Death punctured a hole in my soul, not the first and not the last,

and bequeathed as its gift a perpetual emptiness.

The longer I live, the more punctured and porous I become,

growing ever more so with each loss.

I stand poised and proper, as dictated,

yet left with little more than an aging shell and a fragmented spirit.

Elusive power - change this life-death cycle! But alas that power belongs to mythic gods, of which I am not - I am only skin, and bones, and fingernails, and hair.

Death must live, and life must die.

This is our legacy.

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