Yes yes I am making bread, washing clothes, and walking the dog. Surface is as surface does.
Please, keep your shining light of modernity and false reality out of my face. My eyes have long ago gone milky, much preferring dusk, moonlight, and early dawn.
Thank you, no. I do not want the legally acceptable chemical dependencies of the modern world. I am decomposing, not over-caffeinating. Corpses and coffee do not mix.
Let me be, cradled in the embrace of Hekate's Garden. No, don't move my skeleton out of the wind and rain- how else will I eat? Get your uninitiated hands off of my sacred bones.
I must feel loam. Let me disintegrate, let me die - so that I may live. Let me die, with all the trappings of my previous life and selves, scattered around me like mulch. These are the things of alchemy and transmutation.
Let me die, I need rest so badly. Death comes from an embrace that yearns from within, as much as it is overseen.
Please go away, let me die. I have been forced to share my life, my energy, my essence, with everyone except myself. Is it any wonder that I am viciously territorial of my burial grounds and their sacred rites?
Your shock disinterests and delays me. I am not here to paint a canvas of understanding in paint-by-numbers. Everyone has their own pallet, go find yours and leave me be.
"Wait! Aren't you lonely, dying all by yourself?"
"If you have to ask, you don't know and aren't ready," exasperation leaks out of me.
Suffice it to say, let me die- in peace.
Let me die in fertile loamy soil, under La Luna. Let me die, past, present, and supposed future. Let me die to the world of illusions, modernity, and social acceptability. Let me die to the new-fangled status quo.
Please, for Goddess sake, LET. ME. DIE. I can no longer carry the diseased cadavers of my past. I cannot go on looking into the dead eyes of the girl-child I once was. Can't you leave me be? I am eternally watched over by the denizens of the night.
Now, please go. Let me die.
Let me die.
Let me die.