Slow Death

Darkroom – Where poems develop photos.


“We have swapped war stories and boasted battle scars,
waded through fields of friendship turned enemy territory.
Loaded rounds, taken aim.
Face it, we have land mine love.

I have saluted you 21 times,
wrapped my body around your grenade,
I have made peace with this white flag.

When day breaks, we are nothing but empty shells.
No gunpowder, no glory.
You will always be my clean kill,
but I am still a slow death.”

Slow Death

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