I am not dying.

Obsidian tongue – thin to the tips, curved at the sides like a perverse ship
You were there - present at birth
Sickly shrill and growing in girth
And now you’re committed;
It is my turn to sail-
Again to the ocean lacking avail.

It was like this afore, when I drew on my thumbs
Instead of on strangers, instead of on dangers.
You’re painting my cage with the faeces of slums
Although, you’re invalid if you think I’ll succumb.

I will observe – your big Thetis, pirouetting the sky like an aborted foetus
Never to conceive – a weakened myth
A callous umbilical – a piñata with
The bloated infant-
No baton to strike;
The bloody, battered, candy-filled tyke.

You cannot strangle me, or portion my edge,
I’ve obtained a duty, a pure-black beauty.
I’m the inverted angel with a virtue-pledge
I’ll scour my people with a cherry dredge.
I will extract their evil
I will live forever
I will profit
I am not dead, like you
I am not you
I am not Lillian.