I Wish I Wasn’t Dead (Halloween)

I wish I wasn’t dead
Familiar scene
our footsteps trace the floor
spinning clouds of dust that
a place we want to pass but never stay long
yet tonight it’s different.
Tonight I’m rushing 
through up down along
your splendid floor.
this empty cavity
this sensitivity
i feel as your eyes
search my frame.
Yours are the only eyes I’d allow
though I’m running, I know hiding 
is never going to stop the hurting
so I keep chasing on
this melancholy song.
the pain is so raw it smells fetid
yet i wanna continue
rubbing it all over
your empty walls.
the silence is a tension
giving a new dimension
to my meaningless eternal dance. (trance?)
yet it stokes the fire
that should never have been quenched.
on and on and on 
never tracing the same path
my bare feet on every inch of floor.
marble cries out in delight –
how long has it been
since it last felt 
such a tender caress?
my temples are flushed
my hair is askew
yet my empty soul
finds its escape in this 
perpetual desperation
which for all its worth
fractures and charges the air
with the crackle of static.
i’ve come to the end of myself
my form consolidates
i ration myself breaths
to protect whats left in me 
from oxygen’s combustion 
the time has come 
brilliant yellow eyes creeping 
from the darkness
i am petrified
yet i know 
what i came here for.
he’s coming closer
now all i see are
bright spots
and my face is engulfed
with warmth and wetness.
i can feel his heat 
coming over me
and all i hear is
snap and
my eyes watch  
as the rest of me
crumbles into ashes.
i know how this all goes.
tomorrow i’m going to rise
to countless nameless faceless
entangled bodies
that look through me
and reaffirm the 
emptiness and transparency 
which i am.
i wait and watch the clock drawing
empty circles – was it
sixteen or seventeen?
then the time would come again
where the stage was mine
all mine in deathly quiet peace.
there i would trace
those nervous steps
filling them with the substance of confidence
until i see his blazing yellow eyes again
and fold under his sure embrace.
the days pass and stack up
same same
but different
euston station
five hundred days since.
i wish i wasn’t dead.

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