I think I can paint this world for you now. From decadence and disorderly life to death and blank slates. Something I own, expressed dearfully to you as if I have always owned it. Perhaps remembered by no one in the end, but for now, maybe even just a glimpse of light from the murk and more, just to prove it can exist. even if it fades within the hour.

Sincerly,
       Rosier.

Dear Death,

Unshackle my wrists from life so they may be clipped to death. 


Standing brazenly atop this peak of rock. The angel of death cheerfully still settled at where she had lain. One leg up across the other, Hands behind her head. Stretched out comfortably. 


Grass hardly an excuse for a mattress, all the same, moonlit bed for a king with her presence. 


Stars you can't even see reflected in her heaven-inclined eyes. 


Jumping up she decides to take my hand, twirling around the mountain top. 


Tottering on cliffs' edge. Dancing with death. 


Stars raining around us, illuminating every blade of grass. 


Slung through this world in slow motion, nakedly disclosed in front of all the things I love. Hanging mid-air, the pair of us, circling what. Bones snapping and colliding, my pained smile, your kind eyes. 


Blood streaking up my face from my eyes so frustrated are my tears, a waterfall of meteors ringing in my ears. 


Still, I can hear her, turning into my vision there she is, as if this blood was cleared and wiped away, I can hear her clearly. 


I asked in an attempt to avoid talking of anything remotely aimed at helping me. 


"Us angels had horns that looped and connected at the tip, a glowing halo, blinding and shackling us to rely on heavens guidance. I broke my halo and took back my sight. 


Spitting tears she vomits her own question. 


"Why do you throw yourself into every pit you find as if solely for the sake of a black hole in the earth to throw yourself into because you do not know the bottom. '' 


"I hope I'll die, so I can hope in earnest." 


"Hope is breaking past your soul, tearing through blankets of flesh, finding nothing, and breaking still. 


Hope is pain existing after you are dead. Impaling your heart with steel, and living on. 


Hope is cutting the tension in your skin to see it split. 


Hope you die before life clutches your throat and tells you to live." 


Death has seen me through the end so many times I've started calling her life.


Connections with Rubble