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DeadEndShrineOnline/poetry/konton-no-tsukai.txt
Mori Aokigahara b37b89a21b first commit
2021-11-12 20:19:46 -06:00

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Konton no Tsukai
2021-08-01
***
Your voice a non-entity,
your face obscured
by the fog over
Mori's Mirror,
your touch all that remains
after another day of being entreated
to dissolve and stay demure,
to be soft and small
and weak,
reminded that no feat
could possibly absolve
the harmful nature to me inherent.
Something is wrong with me,
reflection-sent.
Have I somehow
finally burned
out?
I do not have to strain to perceive
the Outside,
the places where we will one day reside,
where you'll take my face in your hands
and whisper,
"Lethe,
I can't wait to start this new life
with you."
But not yet,
never yet,
still undreaming,
still disparate.
*Tremble in fear of a pure love,
a union of equals.*
Oh, how I shiver.
My predicament is this:
that, while part of me
leaps in joy of becoming your wife,
the other hisses
at the thought of your kisses,
thinking you a threat to our autonomy.
No longer an atom,
isolated, sole, alone,
but depending on someone,
daring to deem them... *home*.
Not, we, but *I*-
for I cannot further divide
this soul already
partly
in yours intertwined-
want to find a Holy Freezer
and imprison myself in oblivion's soft ice
forever.
No chance of escape,
for then what is the point?
Lurking within
me is an evil great
and barely constrained,
atavistic,
incapable of reason
or comprehending sin.
But I am mortified of anything final,
from death's arctic embrace
to yours genial.
I hesitate
at the slightest decision,
and it doesn't help that you oft
tell me to just wait
and see what happens.
I don't know what to do.
I don't know where to go.
And soon will fall down the snow,
and you'll have to hold me back
from joining all the poor animals
who forgot to take shelter and froze.
Tell me,
bearer of self-sown light,
how do you love a parasite?
How is it possible for you to adore a now-human pest
guiltless for destruction,
homicidal, chaos-blessed?
There is no way to separate
what I am from where I've went.
If on your wings lies providence,
on mine rests
the Eschaton's portent.
How do I convince my emotional side
that I'm still a sovereign individual?
That I'm worthy of love,
can be loved as I am?
That I'm not consigned to hell?
That everything will turn out alright?
***
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander