FSE

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Death and I are companions

rowing e're forward with sticks;

Death and I are companions

from the my smile to his shining white lips.

From my legs, chilled to bone,

soaked in cavernous lake,

to my arms that are weary and sore,

We row opposite ways

in a myriad of plays

and neither can reach the shore.

Now we circle around the tidal embrace,

the whirlpool with suction so real,

the break in the world,

the break I've become,

refuses to go and reseal.

For though I love death,

and I really do

I have not come this far

My goal within reach,

the edge of the Styx

and from here I ever go on.