death.
death…
thanatos stands at the door
knocks of thunder
as the lights flicker
clap of lighting
as trees collapse
he asks if he may enter.
i don’t answer.
a whisper in ear,
a pale shutter in response
“may i enter?”
not yet.
he shakes his head,
“memento mori.”
he says,
he parts,
the seas and beneath.
the rows of roses
drooped down,
deathly ill.
as the clock ticks,
and the hourglass drips,
i notice the time.
time.
time.
do you?
after all, i do this for you.
i wade the forbidden sparrows
warn the oncoming tides
away,
from our past times.
past the last time?
oh,
the last time, don’t worry.
lasts are never truly last,
when we dream
and seen all we’ve seem,
when hypnos visits,
it is never quite the last.
but i remember,
when i gripped you last,
was in my dreams that night,
by the growing flowers
in your arms,
and that weeping tree.
i remember it so well,
the aching and breaking green car,
with battery acid stains hidden by a camouflage seat cover.
the door was open,
you were on the driver’s side…
do you remember?
did you dream it too?
slow dancing
by the out of tune piano
to no music,
and i stood on your shoes.
but the raven,
he still comes,
omens and humans,
humans and humans,
and we are all just humans.
i often forget the fragility
of our homes and bones,
despite them burning and falling away.
i feel so alone in this world, now.
in this world alone.
i know you’re here,
but you’re not here.
what’s the point of breathing.
if you’re not living?
the fire grows
in my bones,
can i ignite?
“no.” he whimpered.
please god,
i would give up myself,
and this world
would miss much me less,
than it would miss you.
and i ask once more,
can i give up?
for he will haunt me anyway.
my mistress is an eternal
internal fight,
so please, may i?
and this deathly timing,
don’t worry.
i ask thanatos
as he stands at the door,
thinking all the things i abhor,
can i give up?
please, i just want to sleep
even if the claws of the keres take me,
please thanatos,
let your gentle touch take me.
