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  • Olivia Hollman

Talons of Isolation

Creeping talons of depression grip me,

tearing and lashing as beaks gleam

They rip my insides vehemently

scraping tissue and soft entrails;

blood spatters snouts.

They indulge.

I lie helpless.

Empty eyes search to cease the suffering

racking my sinews with pain, searing so hot,

tears slip down cheeks dying with sizzle and steam;

I am face to face with despair.

Clinging, clutching to the moments I live now,

but will never hoard as memories.

The scavengers pluck my heart,

my spasms and death-throws go unnoticed.

My eyes dry, clouded

as a shadow is cast by a hooded specter.

Life is never more dear until it slips

the grip on a loved one’s hand.

Falling.

Waiting for the catch that has not yet come—

that is the end of life.

Is nothing so dark,

nothing so full of despair

as a life lost in the midst of passion,

of love?

Gnashing teeth,

my breath halting

hollow cavities are exposed to open air.

Your silence stabs

but your absence tortures, butchers,

murders.

My soul is fleeing,

as you leave me,

unreturning.

Goodbye, to never see again

my dearest.


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