Chronically Untouched

I killed it.  Or so I thought.

Scooped out
shovels full of dirt,
to carve a deep, dark space.
I buried it.
I moved on then,
free of shadows, radiant-
with just a tinge
of the graveyard grays.
I listened,
sought confidences –
reserved judgments.
They loved to talk,
to share momentous miscellany –
I listened.
But with listening came
a peculiar conceit,
of being anointed,
of being blessed
with lifetimes lived
in a single, vicarious 
vampire breath.
That radiance is now tainted.
The shadows have risen
from the deep, dark pit
where need
could never slumber.

1 Comment

  1. As one who chronically shares confidences and miscellany, I must say I loved this perspective -Yours.

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