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Issue 6





I would throw myself into a million graves,

If it would bring them back –

The souls that once inhabited these skulls

And made light shine out of their eyes.

Yorick’s eyes sparkled like diamonds;

Ophelia’s, like fool’s gold,

So easily tossed away,

So full of life,

So empty.


We have one hiding under our skin,

Protecting, lonely, soon to be empty.

Filled with organs and beauty;

The vivacity that comes with knowing

That skulls are empty, whether occupied or not,

That life is fleeting – thank God –

That we must shine out of our eyes for longer than we have a face.


Yorick’s eyes no longer sparkle;

He failed the mission we all attempt.

Ophelia’s eyes grew dim even as she lived,

A dimness that confused her into emptiness.

But what of me?

Will my soul die before the rest of me,

Be burnt up by a society that uses fuel carelessly,

As if to be careless is a fashion

And to be fashionable is to lack care?

I will – oh, I know it,

Good Yorick,

I know it.

I will be swallowed;

If not by the earth, then by duty –

If not by duty, then responsibility,

And if none of those? Hope will take me.

I will be lost before anyone notices.

That is tragedy, my friend:

For no one to notice you die.

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