Not again:
obvious lie,
the words alone
a weak response
to the moment.
Of course it’s about
to happen again.
I am tired
of saying it.
I’ve been so tied
to repeating those words
for so long
that my hand
has gone dead
for much beyond
cutting sad food and
trembling.
Any magic
that would work now
will have to move
beyond chanting.
Silver bullets.
Sacred daggers.
An army raised
in the land of
vengeful dead.
Dark Matter 
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