BLESS THE CIRCLE OF LIFE [but don't dare speak of the dead]

i do not know how to *title* but basically this is supposed to read as "death chase" or "chase death" and not. chase chase or death death. AH-

this is what i have learnt, dear - that the soul is but a room with crumbling wallpaper. my room is empty, except for me. when i talk to the walls, they echo back your name.

your room has fairies, all packaged wing luminescence and baby feet. why, i hear you hold tea parties together, 22:22, on the dot, everyday. one can only wonder if you hold the spirit of the universe inside of you too.

and yet, you don't know why i grow out my nails. when they come of age, i will sharpen them to fine points, then pierce them into the mottled skin of my back. i will dig twin trenches into either side of my vertebral column, like gaping gutters of flesh. the skin there, it will grow back with feathers.

for now, i practice by clawing at my wallpaper. biscuit paint chips drop to the floor as my nails drill through wet grime and weathered paper.

i promise you it will be worth it, i promise i will rip out all my wallpaper raw and lay it out as tablecloth for all the tea parties we will have.

i promise you there are feathers nestled under the bloodied bones of my spine. this is all so i can become one of your fairies after all, to live inside you the way you live inside me, through my wildest dreams and softest aches.

this is what i have learnt, dear - that i would ruin my soul to make a home out of yours.

God, I just love your metaphors about mundane tasks. They are FLAWLESS.