O

One dimly-seen sunset to the next…
And all will be well, then.
Let me hear the sound of my voice
And it will be O
O you’ll wake up dead…

And I’ll sit looking through the red door,
A clock on its delicate stand…

It will be there on Christmas morning,
You will go on your knees and pray,
As the clock chimes four.

Then the doors will open once more.
And you’ll go to the altar,
Then I’ll show you my body,
And my spirit,
Like the thing of hell itself,
A hairy thing, rotten…

You’ll feel you’ve come to a place…
That’s different.
To have your spirit stopped,
As it presses against the bed,
Is worse than death…

And your hands will feel a ghastly little thing,
You’ll think, oh, god…
Then suddenly…
You’ll feel yourself,
Like you’ve always been,
Like I was,
Like I’ve been in my whole life
And the sea…
Let me hear the sound of my voice,
And it will be O

O you’ll wake up dead.

:: 09.13.2022 ::