Last night death crept into my room,
And watched me as I slept,
He placed a blade beside my hand,
Where I would cut the best.
He sat himself upon my heart,
A heavy burden I could feel,
That heightened every fear,
And made each nightmare real.
He placed his hand upon my mind,
And stirred it with such dread,
That I cried out in pain,
From the horror painted in my head.
He kissed my cheek, and I felt cold,
A cold I’d never dreamed before,
It was the loneliness he lived,
And I could take no more.
The blade a beacon of release,
Played upon my heavy thoughts,
And the flesh I traced with it,
Was a sadness not forgot.
They found me lying the next day,
A shriveled corpse of what I’d been,
But agony I did not feel,
I felt peace for leaving what I’d seen.
– August 12/2004