Deathome

✢──────────────────────✢ So this is the sweetness of home breaking agate. You promised me cradle, apprenticed me to eclipse. Your varnished likeness peered through halls, bleeding at the corners, cornered, sanctified. Papered saints murmured in disbelief: "She's still alive?" (alive... alive...) Fireplace, how I recall your cold face. Do you remember former shivering girl? The windows iced over as you refused me. They became my coffin. My gall. That is not I. But it was once me. You cast everything from me. Hands sworn to hold held weapons to love. You stripped me to a graven barren field, empty of renewal. I swallowed hard, the quaking ground, gravel caught in my throat. Every hunger flowered into spellwork. Every desperate need became something I could not control. Auric rivers riving blood. I never craved destruction all of it wrought from love. Yet desire called power into itself, dancing through reckless souls. Untrained. Unable to fathom it. Simply swallowed whole. Death came nightly through the pallid door. Wards rotted, failing form, yet begging for one night more. Death laughed with me. (laughing with me...) I should have rightly known. Even death could not refuse the dance. Instead it beckoned me back, night after night, through its pale invitation. There is no smallness now. No bent knees. No pleas. Death keeps my measure in the dance. Even its cold mouth yields! Shedding being into something never dressed for repose. More bare than before. Inside left outward. Nothing concealed. This time I became the anatomist of my own ruin surgeon with trembling hands inside the wound. This is not as before. No voiceless scream. No floor that keeps me still. No bindings. No dreaming of burned flesh or shattered trust. I turned each wound to sigil. I wore each scar as scripture. Embodied power of a trembling child once calling out for home. Tonight you dance with one who kissed death's seductive lips, turned the card upon itself, and found the grave was not for me but who I was before. No tiptoeing through hallways on broken feet. No begging mirrors not to remind me of what I cannot see. I am a witch. Perhaps more. We shall see. Inherited falsehoods opened through surgical alchemy. The Death card rests within my bosom, close to where my heart should be. Flowering rot. Blooming decay. Transmuting. Healing. A whole self made. At last, a wake I gladly host. Goodbye, little girl. (goodbye... goodbye...) You carried me far enough. Lay down the quill. You struggled aloud against the lineage within. Afraid of becoming. Afraid of remaining alive. Had I known it would lead me here, unstoppable, awake, ravenous, I would have bowed to death long ago and set the air right. So here I stand. Not thee. Not she. Not what remained behind. Dead. Dancing. Witch. Whatever title you require. I am unleashed. Unburdened. Hungry. Ravenous. And best of all this time I am the one set free. free... free... free... ✢────────── 𝔊 ──────────✢ Written in 𝔊ray © 2026 ✢──────────────────────✢