If today was my last to experience the torments of this life I wouldn’t fret. This inevitable sadness that I’ve tried with all of me to resist has cloaked my being in fabrics too heavy for me to manage with bare bone.
My soul weighed with the garment as I felt my existence bleed as of flesh when kissed passionately with silver blades.
I know naught about the cause of this pain but I’ve accepted my role as her prey long ago. Back when time meant enough to me to find the strength to suffice a nightmare, that is, a life not worth living.
I dwell in the solitude of moons grace and mask my sorrow with a joyous façade at dawn.  
My resilience is routine, a skit that although rehearsed infinite times still hasn’t been perfected.  
It seems as though death has become fond of me. Deeming me her next victim I felt her racing through me like cancer.
A disconnect some would perceive as brutal I found solace. Swaddled what was left of my soul in her blanketed truth.
A sweet submission to the one thing I always knew about life...


danielle.a.watson