I found the spot I thought you might like
And diligently dug the grave, like you asked.
Then went and purchased the blade, like you suggested:
I left it on the window pane.
Looking upon it, I caught the glisten of raindrops
Shining like diamonds,
Like diamonds stuck onto the empty, interwoven, web-like, branches
Of trees that postpone their dying though winter calls.
But the grey pouring out of the covered sky
Continued to fall onto the sharpened iron
Turning it black, like the grip,
Like the empty, sub-optimal, bowels of the ship.
That was when it dawned on me,
Like the false winter morning I was now overlooking,
You are my greatest pain, my deepest sorrow, my darkest undying
Because the thought you implant, that you can die,
Is naught but a lie.
Any blood you spill is mine
And though the life you claim to take is your own,
Until I hold you, it is mine.
(But simultaneously also not mine.)
© Denis Adide 2015
“For my yoke is easy and my burden is light!” #4Real?