DAMN
Hours after your last breath,
I watched the last
of your soul
fall from your mouth,
grey in its stubbornness
to not give in,
holding on
with all its might
just in case there
was some mistake,
and your body hadn't finally
decided enough was enough.
How so like you
that stubborn piece was,
refusing to give in.
And how it moved like you,
reaching the end
of the bed
and jumping to the floor,
walking slowly toward the door,
returning to heaven
as it should, but
taking its own damn time,
and walking its own damn way.
WAIT
The wall I will die against
is just being built,
the bullet that will pierce
my chest is yet to be cast,
though the gun
that will fire it
lies unused
in some foreign farmer’s shed.
All that remains
is to find the one
who will pull the trigger.
No one has volunteered yet,
though I suspect
you have yet
to receive the request.
I hold my breath,
my eyes closed,
and wait. Wait.
Flights, Issue Fourteen, November 202
Flight of the dragonfly 