The door that slams

The brush of metal on plaster
The melting
Liquid glow
Of a brand of fire
Leaking its saliva
Over my skin
I take a breath
Distant
The pain no longer
Seeking to liven veins
That once bulged with the struggle
Now simply broken
And clotting

Where once bloomed
a fatalistic passion
There is little more than despair
I cradled my losses to me
Suckled them to healthy monsters
That, like parasites,
Knew more of me than I myself
They became me
The ennui, the greed, the withering
Hopeless husk
Of my soul

I think that I fought it once
But then it really makes no difference
Anymore
There’s nothing left for me here
I’m moving on.