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Synthesis or Amputation?

This rain washes
away my footprints.
It washes away the blood
on my hands.

Free as a bird.
Free of all evidence.

Here.
This is the place.

Right here in the dark,
beneath the lightning followed
by a growling applaud
that sends the earth trembling

beneath my feet,
off my shovel,
back into the grave
I fashion for you.

Even so,
out here in the relentless
wet in the darkest
night and bitter

cold, I do it.
Bury you in this deep
hole so far beneath.

Reach with trembling
fingers to find the headstone
warm to the touch.

Corpse to a fetus
in a tomb now a womb.
Ground shaking,
evolved horror arising.

All while I am preparing
for all-out war
with the next villain
on the evolutionary ladder.

As the wind
begins to shake, sway
and break me,
I steady myself on the engraved
marker, this dead end
serves as my anchor

yet I feel this creepy quickening…

Why won’t you stay dead?
Can’t I kill a part of me?

No other choice exists
when denied synthesis.
Without trust and strength,
I can never become one.

Amputation is the only option.
A proper burial is the least that I owe.

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