Death is a Shy Mistress

Passive

Naïve

Suicidal

Just breathe

This feeling had fled

When I started to cry

In this lonely room

Shuttering branches

Solemnly consume

Sadness lacks action

Approach, magic mushroom

And leave land for attraction

My vacuum overtaken by tomb

 

She calls to me

From holy balcony

Saying, “Brenna! One day!

You shall fall on your knees!

And dance with me on moon

I am coming for you

I rest in your trees

I shall take your hand

By night’s most sacred noon

With willows who whisper to sand!”

 

Do not fear the reaper

I promise she fears you more

She will hide in your sleep

Cuddled in the holes of your pipe

Resting on sandals, numbing sore feet.

Alas, the forbidden fruit is ripe

It bites into the tongues of unforgiving

Gives life to starving ancestors

Those who greet you at harvest

When you meet behind closed doors

Her presence that won’t subside

 

When is it no longer passivity?

When naivety bites raw bone

Suicidal thoughts find home

With no one but their masters

Breath escaped virgin clouds

Her livelihood to make beat faster

Blame lies in empty voices

Disheveled police order arrest

13 tapes for 13 bullshit

The reaper does not pull the trigger

No one can end your passivity

The gun holds rest on dying man’s finger

I came for death, she did not come for me

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