It’s time.

The clocks strike 10 and a half.
It’s our last meeting. Together.

It’s quiet.

Winds blow a sad tune
An eerie song. It rains and
Sky weeps in sorrow.

I hear the chattering of the dust spirits.
Animatedly, discussing their latest
Victims

I smooth the creases on my pretty
Black dress.
Sitting on the bed, decorated with the pretty
White flowers.

A row of soldiers stand proudly before me
The slanting silver of lightning flashes across their faces
Then vanishes -
Their swords sheathed.

I will miss you.
Your warm fluffiness that calmed my paranoia of darkness
Your listening ear that heard
the soft whispers from my heart.

Farewell, Friend,
Farewell, Comforter,
Farewell, Protector.

I thank you, and
I make you an angel.

I cry.

It’s time,
The last time.

I pick up the charred remains
Fondling the broken wings of my unicorn

It flies no more.

 

 

childhood