Sunday, September 04, 2005

Death, Herself.

Another cool night for walking these streets,
a late breath of air wraps around my frame,
a blanket delivered by Death herself,
comforting me in these last few moments,
preparing for the inevitability of our life.

No, she isn't here to take my soul,
nor would she even want it, Death knows
that even i am not worth her time.
She comes to collect the fragments of my heart
so she can plant them in her yard,
because i have nothing left to love.

The passing cars, the yells and cat calls,
the seething energy doesn't faze us,
we walk hand in hand, eye to eye,
knowing that i will be forever alone.

Even this beauty dares not come too close,
knows that the black hole of this body
will empty everything and everyone.

The seeds of a once whole heart escape in her reach,
and off she goes, leaving only the wind,
and this dead body doesn't feel the wind,
does nothing to protect itself
but it lingers, waiting with dwindling hope.


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