(no subject)
the porcelain god beckons.
an empty house,
four white looming walls,
closing in.
i give in.
it's inevitable,
self-fulfilling prophecy,
bound to kneel to the pagan
that dominates my soul
again and again and again.
it ravages my body,
wiping it clean,
removing it of all
that is good and just,
instilling it instead with
pain, agony, suffering -
relief.
the precipitous tumble down the rabbit hole
continues henceforth,
and i land with a thundering crash
on the tile floor,
hands shaking,
eyes glazed over,
chest heaving in effigy.
i crawl towards my bed -
or what was once -
and collapse beneath the blankets,
hurled immediately into
technicolor reveries -
not asleep, not quite awake -
amidst an ashen daze of
what once was, what is, what will be.
all at once,
the lights expire.
i am left in a world of black.
just as i intended.
i cuddle further beneath the covers,
snuggling close to death,
whom rubs my head
and whispers affectionately in my ear.
'it will all be okay.'
i yawn, place my hand over my heart,
listen to it beat -
the knell of a life i wanted,
but couldn't have
on account of my own hand.
i shut my eyes, sigh,
and let go.
i came home to die.