Sure, people die all the time.

but each person dies.

dying isn't something you do together.

It's not our voices they control.

They can't police what we say to each other

unless you let them intimidate you.

Our throats are our power.

And I intend to use mine until they've slit it.

that night, in my mind,

i was driving the dark road home

from your place to mine.

the mist that had formed was my solace and solitude,

the place i was most myself.

and i imagined life as a denizen of limbo

finding comfort for the eternal absence

of the goddess you became in my eyes.

when i got home,

i set my stuff down and cried.

what you'd broken was everything i was

but nothing we were.

because you were still there

following me home

holding me while i cried

on that cold couch we fell asleep on.

the mist of solace still floating on the night

through your veins and into mine.

for you, death was just a part of life

it surrounded you, but never became you.

you wouldn't let it.

I saw the turmoil welling up in your eyes

as you gazed at my own, closed,

at the funeral in march

and my tears dropped

from the sanctum of the damned

to your fingers in the living.

Death was always within me

but it would never touch you

when i would get lonely, i built a taller wall

and painted my desires upon it.

then you knocked on the door

and the paintings came to life.

and i was too afraid to open it.

kingdom of clouds

mountains of water

take me away

oh take me home

friends from the past

let's all meet together

back to the place

we're not so alone

inside this cavity,

a jagged caress bludgeons the insides of my ribcage.

my spirit rotten with anxiety,

tired of work, but addicted to escaping it.

and you, with your niceties as broad as the Great Wall.

Blocking the lines of communication at the brink.

We could become a war,

and no one would know until the treaty.