Joy.
Joy of life,
Joy of wonders,
Joy of love,
Joy of death.

When it is joy in question,
I always choose yours -
You always choose mine.
Then we fight about,
The joy we keep stealing
From one another
Every Time.

The joy of life poisons me.
The joy of wonders intrigues me.
The joy of love hurts me.

But,

The joy of death relieves me.

Is this what it feels like

To die?

Blood calmly flowing,
Staining this cursed Earth
Engulfing me in its delicate cold.

It flows.

death

She accompanies me – on my journey on the river Styx.
Ahead we go to the fifth circle: my new home, my new prison.
“See the souls over whom anger prevailed. In the warm bath of the sun they were hateful, down here in the black sludge of the river Styx do they wish they had never been born.”
The words Virgil echoed throughout on our way to the fifth circle –

Here
I wish
I was born

Death led me to the imposing pillars of flaming anger,
Where the sins of my wrath lie.

Envy.
Wrath.
Treachery.

I plead guilty of these in front of the Almighty.
And I was banned to this ****** place.

Demonic.

For once.
At last.
For the last.

I
Was
Happy?

While I burnt for my perjury,
I laughed.

Joyful to be gone.
Joyful of eternal pain.
Joyful of sin.
Joyful of sorrow.

I rejoice my death.

While others forget.
Because that’s human nature –
Forget

The sorrow
The pain
The ones hurting
The ones dead

For them.

It’s only joy.