Two— Not one death, but two.
Two serpent curses coiled round the heavy heart. Two crystal-shatter deaths — two souls succumb to the same poison... All the men I love are cursed to die. Bring me my own poison, then— Bring me nepenthe. Bring me oblivion… For I crave that which makes one forget— I crave cessation Of the desire to know where souls go, Where the great tide of your being crashes, And questions like— How can such presence— Titanic, electric— Become only dust?
Is the soul not an energy— A radiance, devastating, crackling, devouring— When felt shining off another's being? Can’t energy neither be created nor destroyed, merely recycled— Has your soul been recycled? Does it dance now across the milky way, Drawing the ire of the envious stars, As you make your way somewhere new— All the parts of you I love, scattered— All the parts of you I feared, rearranged— Shaped into something new, Something containing both beauty and terror, Like you— Like all that you ever did and said— Like all the love you ever gave my body— Like all the love I ever gave you back.
Wherever you are— Nowhere, Everywhere, Somewhere else entirely— I drink, in your honor, from the chalice of obviation, For peace— For I do not wish to cast all that magick of remembrance— For, I shall one day too become absence— For, All the love and strife between a crow And the totem that exists to disrupt them, Is destined to ever be known Only by the forgetful sky. 🜁 🜁 🜃
for scarecrow