the heavens split as i drag you to the edge
chilled moonshine pours behind us, a trail
of the sloppiest nectar and sweetest death
the reaper appears, decayed scythe in hand;
rotten lips part to croak, 'was it worth it?'
you were such a pretty boy at the chapel.
you could not bare the pits of my hellish ire,
could you, my love? the psalms stole your mind
while your father made sure i went half-blind
the reaper grins at my lack of an answer
he does not pick at the carcass by my feet
cracked fingers yank me over the cliff
lungs vanish as air slips between my fingers
i am alone; i am dead.
