I see my rival in bitter disguises.
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He lingers like the taste of broken glass
on a lifeless morning after.
He is reflected in cold hostile stares
on grisly subways and the shining grey
of coffee cups on empty stalls.
I stand unprepared.
He grins from every crevice.
And I know this of rivals and of death,
they are intransigent as old love
and survive a brief forever.
As blank as air, cold as my desperation,
colourless as evil, he is untouchable,
unknown, a familiar stranger.
He waits in the splinters of electric night,
at yawning doors. I watch him in slithering
crowds, in a diaspora of eyes.
He knows my secrets.
He does not mean well.