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So here lies in the middle of my room without furniture. See you there, limp, almost lifeless.
I walk around you without raising your tired body from the cold ground. The fragile light envelopes you in the height of the darkened room while you're still with me looking as Gioconda melancholy, almost suicidal. I dare not touch for now because the lack of life has always disturbed me in unexpected ways and you emanate the last gasps of soul contained in skin and bones. I fear you give me enough not to mourn uncontrollably and run to meet your mouth whispering. I love you enough not to save pounced.
In a last effort to communicate with me, stretching out slowly by hand to ask me to kneel next to you.
"No, please, I beg.
"must" implore.
My knees are broken by touching the floor is now almost ice and fall on you in a dull roar. No pain now. That death anxiety is gone and you ask me in a selfish gesture to cry. Xibalba.
"If you go you, take me with you," ordered.
"If I go, you stay in my place," impose.
We have come so that I will become something else. I have to go hands on you ... through you to mold you like soft clay. Power theft is overvalued, and do not take me. So I choose to change your physical form me. I choose to take like a charm until that day when I hide the moon.
last sigh so you sardonic poetry disintegrates.
What's done is done.
You, you're not.
MATH.
