Death, Bless the Lonely Souls
I have screwed a couple of witches. I try my damndest not to fuck with them, but their appeal is irresistible.
What is a life well lived? What does that mean? If you don’t know, you should mind your business and let me enjoy a quiet death, the way no one expects me to welcome it. I don’t even know what to expect in life. Everyday I struggle to defeat days, nights immortal suicide. Haunting like a problem I wasn’t supposed to solve, like a secret that hopefully won’t be found even in, or after death to keep myself respected and beloved.
But why? I wasn’t always, didn’t always give, and didn’t always want to be loved, although I mourned when I lost what obviously never belonged to me. Maybe if I mourned when I had it, I would have seen the grim end and made a deal. Maybe I didn’t believe in love because it didn’t come at the instant I desired.
My funeral was full of it. Cries, attention, and speeches from people who cared, and some who showed up to receive. Bone-chilling cold. People took pictures, stared, touched. The dead should be allowed, It should be understood, from family and friends, more than anyone to let us rest in peace.
But you bring me back. In your dreams! And memories! You should have let me, after all I gave and continue, trying, to make you happy. Soothing your dilemmas, answering with tugs on your heart, paining you to tears.
Now which of us is selfish for refusing to let go. But never, think of me as an ex-with crossed out eyes. I wasn’t that type; violent, unbearable to look at or reconcile. I did have you and many others. That’s not a well-kept secret, unfortunately. Although it is shocking, like an unexpected, but really, unwanted pregnancy or that sexy lying partner damming you with an std. You get it? You are giving me something I don’t want. A memory keeping us stifled, as we reach back to what we cannot grasp that way. I know, I have caused harm, but similar to when you ended our relationship before I decided it was the right time, I get to choose how I feel, and I am always right.
Inhuman sounds offensive, so we say spirit. Keeping me alive as an excuse for you not to be. Now, now, don’t get offended. It is you, who beckons me, conjuring or should I say reciting religious babble believed in an unconscious panic. A conflicted caring disciple trying to cheat harm, like using a plastic baggie as a condom. A Sharp, painful, cutting raw mistake. You don’t stop, ignoring tension because you claim deep commitment to my pleasure in moments you cause pain. Thumping, pulsating, who’s coming and who’s going? Please let me rest while you go-on-live.
Don’t say for the both of us. Don’t you dare. You can’t, keep that secret-it holds you back. I never wanted that for you. So, you shouldn’t.
I free you. You were free before me. I will not be skinned a devil my culture. Mike told us to kill our masters. I am a brother, uncle, father, son, lover, friend, peacemaker, fighter, warrior, and hater because I don’t have a place for fear. I will never escape, someone-else’s perfection. Up-rising boredom, rebellion, fighting to move different like the day I was shot, and I pulled the bullet out to go. My mind knifed through life. The last run I made. The last can see if we were, what I, hopefully you believed kept us together. You became a man. And me, what no one ever thought, or wanted, or imagined-except us, somehow. We brought ourselves there, to that moment. Responsible for an end. I know I did. I saw what I wanted to ignore, death and fear. Foolish maybe, a-little too careless.
I have a confession. I always thought you were a witch. Well, not always, but a-lot of times. It has to make sense. You made our bodies morph, flesh contort. Are you? Human or animal, devil mind full of hunt and kill.
People always want to know what happens in death. Same as life only we can afford to be careless. It’s a style you should mimic, carefully, because everything lasts, continues through bloodlines. Beyond extinctions, A.D. B.C. WTF, IDC, IDK, I just thought a heads up would help until next lifetime.
