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The dark shadow of death
Follows me through the night.
Three and a half steps behind,
My footsteps echo his
Hurried and stumbling.
His eyes mirror mine
Frightened and wet,
Seeking anything familiar in the darkness.
His hands are bound,
Guns, ropes and drugs
Strapped across him.
Weapons, heartbreak, disease.
Which one will be my end?
they cover his mouth,
muffle his words.
He tries in vain to breath life and warmth
To his blue and numb fingers,
Though his breath is colder
Than the air submerging us.
The journey is long and cold,
I'm not sure where it ends.
I look back and wonder:
Is he following me
Or am I following him?
My heart aches
Black sticky tar dripping
Onto my lungs, stomach, liver.
Engulfing me in darkness and clinging to my chest.
Dark syrup block the path From body to brain.
My blood mixes with it, A murky brown colour.
Shadows fill every inch of my body.
Depression runs through my veins
In and out
My heart pumps it around Not aware the difference
Between good and bad blood.
Doing its job as it should - My brain, unaware and indifferent, won't stop it.
Is it better to suffer
or to fill my throath with tar and dust?
The rope lays heavily on my shoulders,
Snugly around my neck.
Like a scratchy jewel.
I hear it whisper,
“I’m the end, it’s me and you”
It weighs me down,
With an unsure promise
Laying thickly on my shoulders.
The reminder that one day, it will be used.
It ignites fear,
It ignites what I already know.
“In the end, I will be the one to hold you accountable”