Written

Written

I saw Her in the Moon, felt Her in the stars. As night fell each evening, a smothering cocoon of darkness pulling me beneath its obsidian comforts, I took a deep breath and dived into immortality. Every night the same. Every night unwanted.

The bane of forever weighed heavy on my heart. I sought death with the same determination as a seed the light, courted it even. Courage, however, was a trait I lacked, and although a smiling blade would have returned me there, another’s, or my own, the trickle of life running through me refused to succumb. Pathetic, I know, but the truth.

Fate was a fickle mistress. One moment she taunted, next, cheered, leaving the fated to surf her undulating waves alone. My fate began the day She turned me. Only She could ever take that fate away.

I stood on the cliff overlooking the ocean as I was wont to do. The undulating Atlantic soothed my soul, so to speak, and eased my torrid thoughts. I often imagined my lover in those unblemished vistas: Her skin, the polished waters; Her smile, the changeable horizon; Her eyes, the moon and its reflection. A step would have ended my pain. Even I could not have survived the plummet. She knew it. She wanted it.

Her voice came as a midwinter whisper, a tickled goodbye in my ear. I turned, stumbled, fell.

There was no pain, no hurt, no kiss of jagged rocks on ancient flesh, only an impaled farewell.

I died with a smile on my face and Her laughter written across my soul. I didn’t care; it’s what I wanted. It’s what She wanted too, but for different reasons.

THE END.

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Immortal Rhythms

The rain beats a relentless rhythm
Staccato, the clapping of Hispanic hearts.
Night fills all like spilled ink on a canvas,
I’m awash in it. Always.
Peace is a rare commodity,
As intangible as ghosts after midnight;
No rest for the wicked, they say.
I know this better than most.
I have known it too long.
Immortality is not a gift,
No lingering pleasure,
No infinite extension of crimson bliss,
But a bane, a burden, a price paid.
So I sit here in this ebon night,
This wet patch of eternity,
Talons poised over a dead chest
Seeking purchase on sodden velvet;
I wait to end it,
But I can’t.
I never will.
Death won’t allow it.

Stagnation Only Grows Worse

“Time: there is nothing more corrosive.”


“It is so easy to lose oneself in immortality, forget all that you were. It always comes back, though. Blood will do that to a stagnant mind even if the memories aren’t your own.”


“The North Star, Polaris, it is my surrogate sun, my daytime, my muse. How sad is that? How sad am I?”

To Be Immortal



 Somewhere there’s a valley where the sun doesn’t set. Golden rays sweep over lush grasses and flowers of every hue proliferate. I have not seen this place, nor heard of it from others, but I feel it in my soul. I am drawn to it, as a moth to a flame. Yearn for it, as a salmon to its birthing stream. Yet, ask me where to seek it and I can only place a palm to my chest. Is it a madness upon me, a want for that which shall never be? Perhaps. But, whilst I look up to the sapphire sky and the ghosts of clouds once formed, I know I shall always lust for a world without night. For one day, I know I shall not wake from it.