DEATH

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My madness is like a streak of thin light slicing through the darkness of my thoughts, my dreams, holding me back from the memories that plagues me and sometimes brings tears to my eyes and make me look less towards old age.

The cold is the warmth I breath in through my pores, I am Freya and she I. We walked together on the same path when earth was yet brightened by the Lord's breath. We held hands but she was so cold in disposition and words and I was in need of warmth, she was hotter than fire and I slowly burnt in the flames of her iciness but

The fire is the force with which I am reckoned with. It reflects the turmoil within my soul clamouring to spill over from my many scars, deep gashes in my skins covered by a thin tissue and with what way shall I stop the free flow of dark thoughts colouring my groping palms grey if not with death because

Death is the end to all, it is emptiness in a way that emptiness itself does not know about. It is a void that accepts all kinds of wastes. Abandoned dreams, wrong turns through life's numerous crossroads. It wipes tears completely so that the glands can never secrete anything again, the lips become sealed and the eyes, the see nothing but the darkness yet

There is a light in the darkness that spreads in like the sun on a July morning. Bright like the promise of a better tomorrow, a better imagination for a better future just within reach like the rays of a huge star streaking in from a crack in the roof of a prison.

Yes, another day will come when we go up in arms against Fate but today, since we cannot reach the heavens and pluck out its eyes with our crooked fingers, we will stick to earth, our palms opened in prayer, waiting for a miracle.