Thoughts on My 1,001st Death
Once in a while,
the cold ticklish fingers of fear—
always touching, never crashing—
disappear.
In those moments,
the lightness of existence,
the courage to stay alive,
the blessing of birth intoxicate me.
They help me forget
that fear was once my constant companion.
But when the mischievous phantom is gone for too long,
I catch myself looking over my shoulder,
anticipating it’s sudden return—
or worse, a greater foe
I thought already conquered.
An ancient terror claws itself out of the depths of my guts,
crawling up my throat,
grasping at any surface to see the light again,
no matter what it destroys along the way.
Hidden in Tartarus’ silence,
its body ripping from within me—
Melting, reforming
picking my dead skin from under its nails.
I know the gentle yet annoyingly persistent waves
that flutter and kiss my feet
will only stay at bay—
making space for whatever horror may come,
to consume,
to drown,
to suffocate.
So I long to run,
to lock my heart away,
but my bones are already buckled in place,
knowing hiding is futile.
At the end of this storm,
I will perish once more.
To be reborn into something
I never asked to be.
So I let the crashing tide take me.