They’re Dead to Me
Stuck in self-misery
They’re dead to me — is what he said a thousand times — killing off people once close and those of a different cloth. With the fear of losing everything he had — reflecting his words in his greatest unease.
Pushing loved ones — lifetime friendships — to other shores. Angry without considering how anyone could leave the beast’s narcissistic world.
Down to the last few — those giving thanks for the Ass that he was — even they began packing their bags, seeking quiet pastures from tormented guise. Now holding onto life’s last thread of hope — damned for all eternity if that is what he chooses — clearly, he has made his bed and now it is time for him to sleep in it.
Sanctified — his partner’s path — for exchanging beliefs with demons’ lasting impressions. Spawned are the children — tomorrow’s new hope — breaking cycles of centuries handed down given ways.
Last one standing — before the demon’s presence — blessing him, forever turning a blind eye to what possibilities lay before him. Too afraid to let go — familiar tune of a destructive song — disease-ridden — rotting from the inside out. He’s dead to me — mirrored back to what was once spoken to me.
Thank you Zay Pareltheon, Marilyn J Wolf, Viraji Ogodapola, and the whole Howling Owl community for keeping the flow of hooter’s quo.
Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and, more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.