She told me not to get a cat,
But I couldn’t resist the tiny thing—
That soft, commanding little meow,
Giving orders like a queen.

Her paws dug gently into my chest,
And I couldn’t bear to set her down.
Her voice turned my quiet place
Into a home with every sound.

She clung to me, never letting go,
Until she fell asleep, her breath so light.
The question came—our princess needs a name—
I asked her, she laughed and said I couldn't care right.

Still, a smile broke through,
As she named her Bella, and the little one seemed pleased.
Now Bella ruled my heart,
Alongside the one who gave her name with ease.

But alas, I couldn't care enough,
And I cried when Bella breathed no more.
Broken, something precious lost,
Yet she told me Bella would live as long as she’s remembered.

Now I tell stories to her tiny grave,
Keeping her alive in every word I say.

They told me the Moon is beautiful,
But I didn’t believe, and now they force me to look.

I fixed my gaze on that which they claim is most beautiful.

Confused, I turned back to them: “Why do you say it is beautiful?”

“Why not?” they asked.

Smiling, I answered, “How can something be pretty
If it doesn’t have eyes like hers, eyes that are an eternal prison to me?

How can it be beautiful if it lacks her smile,
A smile so radiant I forget my name every time I see it?

How can it be beautiful if it doesn’t resemble her?”

Laughing, they asked, “What does she look like?”

Smiling, I replied, “I do not remember.”

Several stood around the man, old and disfigured,
Who was resisting the embrace of death.

Curious, I inquired of someone:

The man had made a promise,
As ancient as his withered body.

To die only by the hand of the Right Person.
Many came, seeking to learn the name of this person.

Yet the man couldn’t—or wouldn’t—remember.
Thus he endured agony, refusing to accept
Death’s merciful gift.

He bled, his skin rotting,
His hair falling, blood congealed; still, he refused
To embrace death’s release.

Those who cared wept, those who loved pleaded,
Begging him to surrender. For the Right Person
Might never come, or could forget the promise made.

I watched this for a long time and decided to commit the sin.
Now I deliver the gift, by gently strangling him to sleep.

There was once a time when the world was not gray.
When Joy and I were friends.

But now he’s become a nemesis
As a new companion holds my hand–
Whom the world calls Sorrow.

We walk together; he grasps my hand always.
Yet a dagger struck, piercing my friend Sorrow.

The world brightened a little, and I looked in surprise.
Soon another dagger found its mark.

The world grew brighter still, and I tried to pull the dagger
From the chest of my friend named Sorrow.

But someone took my hand; I looked and saw
That Joy was holding it once more.

Then a few more daggers came, piercing Sorrow again.
I looked at the faces—some were friends, one was mother,
And the last I don't remember.

Those who adorned their thrones with gems and ruled through faith

Lay lifeless, their once-beautiful faces unmoving.

I looked at their faces and felt disgust.

Those whose thrones were made of bones and ruled through fear

Lie at my feet, heads severed, eyes locked with mine.

I looked at them and felt the same disgust.

At last, I had achieved the revenge I longed for.

Then I heard a cry.

Turning, I saw a boy weeping alone
In a sea of corpses, tears feeling from his eye. breaking faith and dissolving fear.

Our eyes met, A single sigh escaped my lips as this was the only way to defeat those who were undefeatable

Now I awaited him seated on the new throne.

And so, the cycle of revenge goes on.

I feel cold.

The stars shine brightly in the sky above me.

I see the moon, serene and distant.

The dagger rests perfectly in my heart.

I remember the stories my mother once told me.

I recall the faces of my cat and dog.

Yet, why do I feel so empty?

Isn’t this what I always wanted?

To sleep peacefully, to finally be free.

Then why does joy still elude me?

They promised I’d feel it once I reached my goal.

What am I missing?

I pondered this as the final moments of my life slipped away, blood seeping from the wound I gifted myself.

And then, as the last flicker of light faded from my eyes, I understood.

It’s because I can no longer remember that face.

I knocked at Heaven's door once. It remained closed, so I knocked again, but there was no response.

"Can you let me home? I feel cold."
The door stayed shut. Perhaps my sins kept it closed.

So I turned to the gate of Hell and knocked. It, too, remained closed. I knocked again, but still no answer came.

"Can you let me home? I feel afraid."
The door stayed shut. Perhaps I haven’t sinned enough to warrant entry.

Troubled, I stood between the two, rejected by both, with no place to call home.