Held it in my arms
as it decayed
to charcoal, as pieces of it
scaled off and crumbled
and fell at my feet.
This is of course
why I picked it up
in the first place:
I only hold tight to my chest
what will fail me
most visibly.
I love the sound
that rises from the ground
when I tread upon it
as I walk away,
and the stains on my arms
that offer evidence
of my martyrdom.
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Dark Matter 
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