A box blue,
Dust on the lid, two blows too weak to faze the residents.
A talking key,
Sweet words of warning,
Orange fumes leak out of criss-cross cracks, tickling me.
Somewhere, somebody rings a bell I've heard a hundred times before,
Thin, icy-slab beneath my feet,
The key calls me stubborn as I dance, sing and leap across the final bridge.
My feet ache, tears of joy mix with the acid in the air
As I place the box in its rightful stand,
"When will I see you again, old friend?"
"Never," says the box and the cracks close,
Fumes form a smiley face and I gasp,
Tears in lips, an attack of sourness jolts me, keeps me on my feet.
The bridge behind me laughs at my grief,
Like my heart, it will break, I know, when I cross it for the last time,
"Even so, you should dance," says the box.
I oblige and I fall, into freezing water,
I didn't even hear the ice collapse; these things happen so fast,
Orange fumes curl all around my limbs, burning itself with a promise to keep me warm.
I have a fuzzy feeling in my head, I don't know if it's the cold
Or the essence of my friend,
I laugh back at the ice-rubbles drowning by my side.
"What's so funny about all of this?"
"You died for vengeance," I reply. "I died to keep an oath."
I run out of air.