Is it worth it?
To have Death
walk beside you
every waking moment?
To have him talk to you
in your dreams,
in your nightmares,
and steal your breath away?
Is it?
Where is the hunger in your eyes?
The hunger for life?
It makes me vomit at the heart
to think that only a few want to take a chance
to get hurt,
to feel pain,
to fall in love
and grow old
and psychotic,
but I can't lie
to myself
like I have so many times before.
My bones have felt this same way.
My hands have been too weak
to fight this everlasting war with Death.
My dreams, my life accepted
and embraced his black lungs
sucking the breath out of mine,
but over time
what felt like a never ending darkness
soon faded
and the dawn began to radiate my world.
And as the light swallowed the dark,
the strength in my hands grew.
Death became weaker and weaker.
My hunger grew more and more.
The war carried on.
My lucid wrath,
filled with rage,
void of remorse,
was the cause of Death's demise.
My hands murdered him
with the beauties of life.
After the darkness was swallowed whole,
I became as free as a child dreaming,
and there is no greater feeling,
no greater joy
than to embrace
every waking moment,
every dream and nightmare,
every second of well rested sleep.
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