THE FOLLIES OF SELF-LOVE

How like the hydra
it is
with four heads
legs spread
taloned toes curled
clawing the air.
It moves
with measured skill
begging deft hands
to feed it
steel.
And I will
over and over again.

It dies
revives
and bites back
twice as strong.

What once was a weapon
against Death
digs teeth in
addicting
like a drug
of defeat.

I writhe
in silence
too tired
to fight it.
Does this make my zen weak?

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