The Gunshot Revisionist

I found this
Dark secret
Buried within
The binding of a book.
From the dust where it resides
This awful diatribe
Beckons as my fingers grace the spine.

Bound tight...

A war of words
Armed to the fucking teeth.
A pen? Absurd!
A shell into the breach.
As if on cue,
The writer ends himself.
A cold hard truth
To populate this shelf.

Last light...

"All stories, if continued far enough, end in death."



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