Post the Twenty Ninth

Disastrous

Like everything I touch.
Or even think about touching,
these days.
I trust too much
and say too little.
End up counting casualties
of my personality
laid out on the
floor before me.
No body bags available,
just mirrors
reflecting every angle
of every corpse
until my peripherals
are filled to bursting
with the outcome of these
disastrous days.

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