Into The Cold
I crawl into your decrepit heart,
to be refined by your chill.
My fatal reflections emerge among
your still, anaerobic lifeforms
as I become like them
one cell death at a time.
No longer moving or breathing,
I forget motion and growth;
my expressions become my decay,
though it is slow, my decomposition
moves through stages as I descend
your one-way staircase alone.
Lost of breath, I no longer respire;
My bodily functions remain in stasis.
Only your depths shield my vulnerabilities
in remaining whole and undisturbed.
My bones are encased in tight wrappings
of the leather I am being reduced to.
This dirt mausoleum is my sanity's
only mode of preservation; my only
respite from dismemberment as
my joints become slack and my flesh
unremembering of blood flow.
I cannot bear to leave my form
in spirit and face the uncreated state, so
I remain here to endure this motionless
undoing of the human condition into
a nonhuman one, smelling dampness
and yet being so dry and paralyzed
in this final dehydration.
Every facet of my life becomes
only a memory repeating in
my electrically dying, barely
conscious brain; the memories
come randomly as sounds to
a blindfolded person.
The darkness blinds me and
renders me mute.
I feel unborn, retracting permanently
into the womb of the dark Mother;
I am now becoming hers, alone
and hear only myself echoing.
I scream silently to those above
who mourn me; no one hears.
My life's story is an anecdote
told to be learned from;
I am the dead teacher who
demonstrates the cruelest lesson:
In the end, nothing matters;
all stories end this same way,
and no one conquers or wins over Death.
We all, eventually are destined to face
the void which birthed us and to enter
into it's cold embrace.
Written by PoetsRevenge
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