In Transition

The end of night had left 
a bloody trail― 
of the fading moon. 

Love erupts with 
a pang. I love the privacy 
of dark niches. 

Life begins to write about 
the bare pricks. I start 
paying my debts of wounds. 

A canary leaves me 
bleeding whenever I ask 
it to burn with me. 

In flames go my 
dreams when I invite the 
sun to sleep with me.

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