Black tendrils dress my head
And wild hair grows out to meet them.

Where was that dark place where you met your end?
It was in the light.

Which you turned white
And black, and everything in between.

These black tendrils reach out and curl around
Daggers of white light, put them to work.

And where all the light came from,
Was it not the dark place where you met your fatal end?

I see the vacancy in you,
The Fatal Friend.

I see the fullness of you,
I feel cells trapping the wonder for my own taste
And I am right.

The Kingdom is mine