The knife is rising, but you don't know who's holding it. Is it an external threat, willing you to die? Or maybe your hand is attempting treason, worthy of Dante's seventh ring. It doesn't matter now, as the blade begins to bite, and you slowly melt away. The light is fading and you know you can no longer stay. You're dying, and as the life drains out of you, you are forced to watch her fall. Its a long ways down; neither of you can see the street below. You think you might just die again, knowing you can't save her. That pale horseman waits for her to rise, broken and dead, but still alive. You'll never see his face, but a tear rolls down your rotting cheek, as he smiles wickedly at her pain.?
January 9, 2011