Death at My Door

Though I feel death is flirting with my breath, cheapening my estate with drunken words and immortal scum. I long to deposit my body, savouring the moment, whispering to no-one, though earlier on I would have disapproved such thoughts. The minutes tick away, as I nurse what is left and take what is mine.

My love though irretrievable and unfinished is painful to bear alone. Alone I am, fading until my senility is forfeited and my period of insipid inertness is but for me to ask myself and take alone.

The path of the roses is betrayed, lifeless I lay immoral and dissolute. My dynasty laid open to the progeny of hell, conspicuous in it's creator.

My father dies within me, and thus my revenge is complete, born within my eyes as they cry for justice.

My mind wanders, gazing up at row upon row of books I wonder why they sit patiently calmly waiting for a footstep and hand to unlock their pages as in the final way my footsteps will end in a dungeon of fire my soul carried to hell on the back of a whore.

I am surrounded, with seeds of anger

as my eyes fade from light, I reach out

There is dirt all around me.