Dust sighs phantoms out of silence, ethereal void tingles the nape of my neck -- my soul is elemental, and where I end; I begin.
I see newness webbed by the crooked wrinkles of time, the sun burns then crusts in the cooling sky.
I summon a bold reflection -- my throat goes numb when I stare,
I find her already singing, trilling in full dawn skin -- her skeleton is a breeze.
She chuckles the tunes, and screams with obvious breath that I shouldn't give up on her.
As I sit back, I notice she is made of ribbon -- so I knot her.
Is it time for me yet?
What is my purpose other than killing her.
Her remnants are inedible ink -- I am turning them into rhythmic poems.
What is my essence if not but a merely repentance of me destroying all my best parts.
I hope I'd be spared by the Gods of her kindness, and the Devils of her wrath.