Slow Death

Darkroom – Where poems develop photos.

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“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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