Today is day 3072.

It’s been years since I last saw you.

I remember you crying,

You never were all that death-defying.

I think I saw it in you obsidian eyes,

That night we said our very last good-byes.

I have had to kill you.

Your dress was stained red, from light-blue.

(I grabbed your little ruby heart in my fist and squeezed,

Until your blood ran through my fingers like water.) 

You made every one pity you.

You made me kill you, didn’t you?

(I cut out your tongue with the scissors you used to cut at me,

And put it under my pillow to help me sleep)   

And now, here we are, together at last.

Down, down, down in the deep.

I recognized Him

From is shadow on my wall.

Where He danced, and cried, and seized,

As though the universe could not contain Him

He was covered in glass knives,

And dirty syringes.

They littered His thick skin,

Like the scales of some great, ghastly reptile.

He wore a long, wool coat

And was as tall as the sky.

He wrote novel after lengthy novel 

About how things may have been,

If it weren't for the weight of the planet upon his frail shoulders.

His sharp little rows of shark- teeth,

Grazed my soft, white skin

Like a blade to the neck of some sacrificial lamb.

He smelled of metallic blood,

And  Lucky Strikes

(The only kind He likes),

And parchment paper,

And old ghosts,

And maybe, if I found Him

on a good day,

At half past nine on the dot,

He may smell a bit like sex.

He was an idea,

A fragmented man made of millions of little mirrors,

Reflecting my own dark eyes.

He wore a brand-new suit

(Dark grey, the color of sleep) 

He smiled at me, with jagged teeth.

He stared at me, with wide, bruised eyes.

And then, he whispered to me.

(My name is J.M Bean, and I am called the Undertaker)

Father was in the hall, 

Talking in low tones to Mother.

The candles flickered

(Fast, then slow)

Of course he is here for me.

Mother and Father are silent now. 

The candles are still.

And I follow the smell of death,

(Emanating from my guide) 

Down, down, down

To the Undertakers lair.

Your love is like time.

It unfolds and refolds and unfolds again and again.

It has never happened, and already happened and it is happening now.

I am the heavens

Intangible and untouchable.

I am cold and vast.

You are the tide.

You come when you are wanted.

Predictably rising and falling.

And who ever heard of the tide loving the universe?

You are weak, fragile, and easily controlled.

Have I done something worse?

I am not sorry,

Nor have I ever been sorry.

And I do not love you,

Nor will I ever love you.