You don’t have to leave.

I can go with you.

Three years,

molten red,

the urge of time ticking–

When death grips you, it doesn’t let go.

I fade to black

and follow you 

through the river Styx.

I crack the hands of bony souls

as they grasp onto your lifeboat.

I reach down and snap them off 

one by one. 

You said you wouldn’t leave me.

You said you wouldn’t.

Why did you lie?

Broken, bare,

torn, stabbed, stricken,

My nerves as tender as violin strings.

I sing to you in my dreams

to make the time go slower.

But Death’s hand is quick.

His scythe frightens me,

the way it swings towards the aorta…

I won’t have any hope left if

I won’t have you.