I Am Fracturing

Marking the days

I cry out in grief.

Stuck in a prison,

unable to get out.

Slowly I return to

ash, my skin shriveling,

dying as it cries out

for a quench to its thirst.

My heartbeat begins

to cease, left with only

its staccato thumps

haltingly losing life.

Fingers curling inward

on my palms I no longer

reach to hold the objects

of life I am supposed to love.

The focus of my eyes

wavers, shifting and drifting 

shut. Forcing me to see

the all encompasing

blackness of death.

My breaths catching in the

deep places of my body.

Fighting, clawing and refusing

to move in disobediance to

my desperation.

Heat drifts out in thin

tendrils of love. I

shiver at their loss

Hatefully releasing my hold.

Slowly I succumb to the

sweet scent of death

enticing me into her

embrace, welcoming me

into the freedom I feel 

in Death's Cold grasp.