I had a talk with death
His voice is sweet
And his tone is always alluring.
Death likes to mingle
And speak with certain people
I don't mean to paint him with a vail of villainous nature
But life holds more beauty knowing that we've taken a loan from death
But I also know death always comes to collect his debt
sometimes late but it always feels too early.
But I think that death is lonely
He whispers in soft ears
To lure people towards his unseen beauty
I think that death has no face
But that when he cries his smooth surface that lays above his neck oozes red tears of pain
And he screams silently with sound stuck in his throat
And that when he speaks he cannot talk but holds your heart close to his
I think death has a black heart
Filled with charcoal
That stains your own heart whenever he holds it.
He likes to know whose debt he'd like to take early
Or maybe he likes to know who he wants to attempt to spend eternity with to rid him of his burning lonesome
I do not know death
But I had a conversation with him
And he tells me he does not know a word that means the opposite of lonely
Perhaps it is because we are all truly lonely
Until death opens his arms
But he does not ever become less lonely
Or more whole hearted
He simply marks new hearts
With his burning charcoal one
With a passion to escape his own loneliness
-A.a
