W O R D S

H O M E

I dance at the hands of death everyday. Holding it tightly, never letting it go, like my life depends on it. Even when I'm already bleeding, from the tight grip, I held to it closely, loving it, romanticising it, wishing it will stay and never let me go. Hoping it will embrace me and love me whole, and finally accepting me. Accept that I want it, so badly. And when that time comes, I will walk into its arms, and receive the hug that I have been waiting for aeons. Smiling as I do so, cause finally I'm returning home, to the place I belong the most, which is Death.

N A M M

12-12-18 / 0217