Poetry| Release
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.
~Ani Po
Thank you Zay Pareltheon, Marilyn J Wolf, Viraji Ogodapola, and the whole Howling Owl community for keeping the flow of hooter’s quo.
