The clocks strike 10 and a half.
It’s our last meeting. Together.
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
I smooth the creases on my pretty
Sitting on the bed, decorated with the pretty
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.
I thank you, and
I make you an angel.
The last time.
I pick up the charred remains
Fondling the broken wings of my unicorn
It flies no more.