VANITAS ― Poetry

i.

he kills me. 

he kills me very slowly.

so slowly I don't even realize

I'm dying until I'm left

staring at my grave. 

the grave I helped digging with

the same hands that

brought him back to life.

(I thought they had brought him back to life

but they didn't)

they didn't bring him back to life, instead

they just buried him farther and farther into his death

and therefore, my death,

and therefore, the world's birth.

and if God had been born

it would have been at our hands too.

I helped bring him back to life with

garnet lips that drank down his every word

a tongue that caught every scent and every taste

of a mind so black and white it was made only

for my color-blind eyes

and yet I couldn't see

the murder he disguised

with different names for love

I almost died

bringing him back to life with

fingers that flipped through his soul,

so gently he almost missed them,

through a soul that can not be flipped gently

for it is a book of dark arts that has no words

only unforgivable curses written in invisible ink

and that's why now he kills me.

and I let him.

because he might have been planning

my death

for a long time, 

but I've been planning it

for longer still.

and so God is finally born

in the empty space between our coffins.

and in the afterlife our ghosts

start the race to kill each other.

this time,

and every time after that,

i win.