You are my Thanatophobia.

I fear to lose you.

My love.

Best friend.

The one who fills that empty void in my soul.

The one who fixed my heart.

You are my Thanatophobia.

-Gillian Askeland

Death, the here long after!
Or do I mean the long here after?
I don’t really know…what a strange thing death is.
Consciousness is like a stream they say
Never really believed them until now
For my thoughts do run like a river (Styx?)
Right through the valley where the shadow of Death walks
That’s right…Death doesn’t ride.
He ******* walks like the rest of us
Blistered feet, soles of the dead can get blisters
And they do! I’ve seen them!
And at the bottom of their souls lies desire
Desire for an answer, for purpose
Never content even when an answer does find them, finds us
We keep on looking
Keep on walking
We waste our lives as worrying wanderers
Walking hand in hand with Death as we realize…
We’re already dead

I

am

not afraid

of birth

People seem to fear

losing this chaotic

fight to the world

I see no fear in the newborn

I see screams owing nothing

I see a cry out to declare

"Yes I am alive, I exist"

and calm settles in after life's first breath

I

am

not afraid

of middle age

the ego death

the rending of the self

and the questions bombarded asking me

"is any of this all worth it?"

As I see many people on the path

of anxiety

I can't help but wonder

how one can fear death

if they worry so much about life being worth it

One doesn't worry about being robbed of

an empty bank account

They seek instead to fill it

to save

to leave something behind for loved ones

In texts so normal we find
Unraveled yarns they left behind
To swallow a dry pill that bruises a dream
It tends to be the easiest of things

I’ve left my yarn in tranquil holes
Dug so deep and filled with snow
Underneath lie the bodies of old
I tell myself
Who could have known?

Mended with gauze and fixed with scraps
The vessel caves in and the flies come back
The whither and tremble of a soft human hand
Which quivers so lightly through weakened grasps

I ask this old woman now barely stable
Did your yarn precede the marvel
Of a young child, bold and able?
Did it graze him and make him wiser?
Powdered bone you hid under covers

How the leaves and meadows of your memories
Reach for both ankles, pushing you gently
Towards a beckoning boney finger that urges you closer
Will such saccharine visions bury six feet under?
So it goes

The yarns unravel now, as they always have  
From birth to the backwards prance of descent
She holds me, whispering me her loves, her life
And my tears unfurl with hers as I ache, hearing such words
Who could have known?

Everybody's running
running
jumping to their deaths
I can't stop peering into lakes
and being haunted by the depth
the sea wants to take me
the sun wants to set
but I'm so torn between
drowning
and not leaving
just
yet

In the past
I have feared death greatly.
The idea of death was
not my friend. The
idea of death caused
me to be afraid and
I could not evade
it.  My problem was
that I did not
understand the
inevitability of death;
the necessity and
freedom that stem
from death.
Although a brutal
or untimely death
would be tragic, there
still lies a common
thread in mortality.
I do not fear the idea
as much anymore.
**Life is what should be feared more.

The

parlour empties after the third song.
You tell me

you need a cigarette and dump the accordion on my lap.
The fog seeps in as you

open the front door
and I worry because you’re wearing black.

I worry because you’ve never offered me a cigarette
or asked

to go for a walk at midnight.
The champagne sticks to my fingers
and I wished I’d grabbed your hand
and said
“I’ll go with you.”

Tick, tock,
Thump, thump,
As the minutes go by,
The heartbeats seem to grow more strained.
Up at night,
Pacing,
Moving,
Weary from the constant movement,
Never resting,
I sit,
A temporary reprieve,
And then up again.
Walking,
Waiting,
Listening,
Terrified,
That at any point,
I could stop and wait to hear what I always hear,
And it will be silent.
Hushed is the house,
Creaking in slumber,
Like a great breath in the foundation,
And all else is silent to my broken ears,
Save the ringing when I strain to hear,
The inhale,
Exhale,
Of my loves ones.
I go to each door and stand,
As still as can be,
Watching for the rise of the chest,
A stirring hand,
A fluttering eyelid,
To remind me-
They are here,
They breathe,
Their hearts beat.
Every night,
I cannot rest,
Haunting the hallways,
Peering around doors,
And I wait,
Impatiently,
For dawn,
For the time when life is clear,
And the nightmare of death can be put to rest,
And only when the sun rises
And my beloved speak
And laugh
And move,
Can my restless limbs,
And shallow breath,
Be put to rest,
With the moon.

There is a line
between
pain and
pleasure.
But when that line blurs-
When the pleasure overthrows
your inhibitions
and the pain numbs your body,
When pain becomes pleasure
and pleasure becomes pain,
how do you know when to stop.

I glorify it.
I crave the taste
of the sickness.
of the disease rippling across my skin,
boiling in my veins
and flowing through my blood.

Is it Healthy?
I love you,
I love it,
but is it healthy
To walk the streets at night
in constant fear
not only of what lurks in the shadows
but of you too.

Anorexic bodies
falling all around us.
Mine included.
Skinnier by the day,
yellow nails chipping and peeling,
grinding of the teeth
to procure a never ending headache.

Pale skin;
cold to the touch
from lack of circulation.
Weak in your arms
an intoxicated mind
and a heart struck through with daggers.

Blasting screams
and beats
to block out the world
and create a throbbing in our heads.
Your freak show;
My guilty little pleasure.

So sick
So satanic
So tenebrific
So twisted
so disturbed
so disgusting
so beautiful
so broken.

cradled by poison,
hold me in your arms,
a monster in the shadows
with thanatognomonic eyes.

With my thanatophobia
You manage to keep me alive.

You do it to feel the pain,
as a confirmation that you're still alive,
But I do it to feel nothing,
to feel all this pain
all these repressed emotions
disappear.

Overall we do it to stay alive,
and shred away
our pitiful sorrows
one by one,
piece by piece.
For inch by inch
we come closer
to meeting the same
fate
of our cold,
useless,
easily forgotten bodies
lying on a metal slab.
Soon to be greeted
by the maltreated Earth.

There was no fear
of death in life,

but the subconscious
understands fear,

and I was afraid
to slip away in  my sleep.

It dwells in alleyways of silhouettes
In clicking sounds in cars
In storms where the wind seems to
Take away your breath

It lives within a stranger’s smile
In a tight grip on the shoulder
In footsteps following you and
Speeding up when your heart
Begins to race.

It is beautiful. It is sudden. It lingers.

It is the spinning, twirling confusion
That leaves you stuck within a
Bubble of white-cold, unsure
Of which direction to go.

All is silent and the

Eerie stillness one feels
With their toes peeking over the edge
Falling, the air whipping about them.
Down
Down
Down

Into the icy depths of liquid

Limbs are heavy, body and mind exhausted
Lungs restricting, pleading for a bite of air
But all you taste is

Fluid

Dripping from your wounds
As you push open your crumpled
Car door, shaking and crying, still
Clutching the phone in your

Hands

Clutching yours, murmured whispers
Of cryptic regret, of cherished moments.
You aged body sinks into the bed
Your grip loosens on theirs
And despite this peaceful end
Your brain screams

Survive! Survive! Survive!
Live! Live! Live!

As you sink into
Six-foot deep holes and
Into dark alleyways
Of silhouettes.