Death's forgiveness.

I believe in fairy tales and my movement is like that
of water inside a rock- stealthy and virulent in
habit; with that efficient saunter. My means are more
practical but my desire is not sharpened by the beetle leaves
that you plant in your garden, it’s sharpened by your ignorance
of the finer things. I can’t explain my existence,
but let me tell you, I was there before you.  

When the dawn of the weeping star touches my forehead and
a meager supernova subsides in the hope of a stymied creation,
I take out a wingless angel by the highway and slaughter it
so that delirious truck drivers could wake up and get control
of their life. I do not strike them, but angels die when fools
are out controlling the movements of the
world.

Here in the midrib of your vacant world, emotions are lost
in tepid storms and flash floods. Do not blame me, for my
existence should be alone enough for the good feelings that
must jolt your heart yet why do they come and go away and
you with your large brain do not fathom it, and nothing
remains for the empty days- not even your
emptiness.

I am not the showman who slaughters angels for an effect, I am not
the one who runs the clock, I am not the one who plays roulettes
with your bashful creation, who draws close the pulse of a
pulsating dove, I am merely a reminder,  I am who I am-
the means to an end, you store me in your  heart all the way, 
I am the prayer of all  the answers in your heart: the day you
chose love I came to you in the form of a deceitful man with a
red rose, the day you chose vendetta I was the aimless
hipster assassin, the day you wanted to corrupt yourself
I became your rapist father, and then one day out of
sorrow and disgust you decided to choose me,
the real me you had always desired-

when you chose me I did not come with the
vengeance you had gleefully imagined,
for I am death and I forgave you
when life
didn’t.