There is a kind of death...
Hell! terrifying
No! I do not fear
that I'll be carnally expiring
I won't recognize it.
I won't be there afterwards to feel it.
When I think of being mentally dead
of losing my creative mind instead
it seems to me catastrophic for a while
I wouldn't be conscient about to revile
I wouldn't have my senses aware to compile
I remember grandma Chryssa
at the her life's end
she felt so safe
she had no chafe by seeing
all her beloved around her
her brothers, her sisters, her mother,
her lovers, her friends
she was talking to them
she was with her ethereal companions during all day
in a state of serenity and happiness in a way
I often was listening to her singing
she was like a little girl chirping
She lived in that noetic paradise for almost twenty years
but we were around her with cheers
we didn't leave her alone
she brought her ghosts with all of us,
she didn't wanted to be gone
we're living together as in a time machine'
ghosts, we, grandma and our routine...
So here comes my ultimate fear...
My emotional death's sphere.
My ferocious depression.
My tendency to go away with no accession
to hide myself in my subconscious grave
to remain silent and deaf in my cave
to hate everyone and everything
and most of all myself, how frustrating!
Then the ice and the darkness
of that kind of death covers me
and I need someone to insist
to stay in the gloom with me
I need to think of someone
who really loves Me
even when I do not worth it
I needed you, traitor!
You did not stand it...
You have disappeared.
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