To Beautify Death

O Eros!

Depollute me!

Your arrows are buried deep in my flesh,

The wound is festering,

And mould has sprouted in the crevices of my heart!

I cut it out with a rusty knife.

Tell me,

Will the infection be deadlier then the rot?

Pul on my heartstrings,

The chords echo in empty chambers

As he butchers your sacred song.

Tell me,

Is it a violin that he yields? or a fiddle?

And for fleeting moments,

Body and soul intertwine

In a cavity in my chest.

Tell me,

Is this cavity a fortress? or a wound?

Do I stitch it up with threat dipped in honey? or phenol?

O Orpheus!

Tune your lyre of flesh and bone,

For its song is an ouroboros.

As the siren bathes in its melody

She burns with an envy so vehement

It drowns her.

Tell me,

Where live in devoted ache

And my rotes planted firm in faithful agony,

Am I to be heroised or pitied?

Will my loyalty be eulogised or canonised?

Tell me,

If I wear my desire as a silk noose,

Will my neck still snap?

Does euphony precede factuality?

Can romanticisation beautify death?

I am a 23 year old aspiring writer with a background in law and politics. I feel deeply and write passionately to remedy that. I have ambitions to write my own book someday.