the world is fading away - blues to gray, oceans to ash. there is death on the lips of strangers, in the eyes of my
family, in the soul of my lover.
my fingers are turning blue.

every day, the same song is played - beginning with solo piano, a somber, bleak melody, soon joined by strings and a clear soprano voice, echoing and piercing, ominous, haunting.

it is the prettiest death march I have ever heard.

fire consumes the trees, the sky, houses and buildings, but it cannot touch my heart, covered in ice and snow.

the river runs red with blood.

blood from strangers, my family, my lover.

and I am alone, waiting for death.
I am surrounded by red rivers and
ash-filled seas, fire - but death has only
taken my skin, bruised and black, and my heart, not my soul.

the sky is drenched in darkness.

I prepare their epitaphs as blood rains from the swollen sky.

I stare at you,
you stare at me -
silence.
we cannot go back
to that moment,
that moment when
it was shattered
and broken and all
was lost.
you buried the memory
will bottles and I
buried it with counting
to 8 over and over,
rubbing my fingers together
until they were red and
raw.
I see you swallow, start
to say something, and pause.
what is going on in your fractured mind?
I want to scream, and cry,
and fall to the ground and
weep, but I turn away and
walk back into the darkness.