The heavy mauve sheet
Should have been softer,
If only it wasn’t so cold.
The flesh and comforter
Above me feel just the same.
The ground is, so they said,
So much colder six feet down.
But the inner sense of omnipresence,
The myriad of eyes longing goodbye
Burn me to a sweat
Pierce me to bead.
To bleed was
To keep the fresh wound clean.
Now that I’ve bled off
Blind Innocence
I’m free to die
A thousand more deaths.