He wrote into a breach,
A way through to some
Other not himself;
Like water through rock,
He slipped through fissures,
Ached along the cracks.
There were slow moments
When his old skin rasped
Roughly on the wall,
Leaving trails of blood
Like blotches of ink
Splashed across the floor;
Moments when his breath
Caught hard in his throat,
Unable to speak.
(April 30, 2107)
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