Prologue

Purple skin

painted orange,

an empty husk

dressed like a man;

the world spins,

off balance,

staggering drunkenly

through empty space

while I search for its edge.

Blank eyes

hidden by stitched lids,

hands folded

over a still chest;

the sun burns

brighter yet,

indifferent rays

warming a hollow

for the dead.

White roses

brown and wilted,

a thousands farewells

on deaf ears;

the stars grow tired

and the clocks

tick, tick, tick.

while I feel it in my bones:

someday I will live again.