a year after your death.

1/4/2008

I like this one. It may be morbid, but is that really a surprise?

"A Year After Your Death"

A year after your death, I might consider taking off my mourning clothes, so prim and proper, and lay them next to my black veiled hat. I'd do this calmly - folding and placing them gently so they wouldn't get wrinkled or damaged. Grief can create fragility, you know. Then I will stand naked at the mirror, to see the changes wrought by my worst year, a year without you. Will I sag? Wrinkle? Waste away?

It won't matter, for after that I would tear out my hair and rake my face with my sharp nails, screaming all the while. I don't know what happens after death, but just in case, I want to give you a head start. A year sounds good for that. I won't want you around to witness my destruction. So, I'll play the part for that first year. After that? Who knows?

I'll maim myself and blind myself and wish for a funeral pyre. I'll start screaming and never stop. I'll walk fearlessly in the dark, to the low places in the night - naked, bloodied and bald, shrieking and shrieking. No wolves would touch me and I'll be fire and steel and lava and ice.

I'll go to the desert where there might be room enough to hold my pain and tears. I'll live on cacti and fresh carrion, just enough to keep me alive, alive and screaming. And I'll do this until the end of my voice, until the end of my breath, until the end of my pain - tangible proof that one person could mean everything to another. Proof that love, that emotion most wondrous, can destroy lives when placed in the wrong hands, head, and heart.

I'll scream for you and our love - and I'll never stop.