Restraining Life

I know that I was born insane to love so much the face of Death. Insanity romanced me even when a child still dwelled beneath infernal skin. Why could society not understand that all I’ve ever really wanted equals none? They knew I never fancied animating flesh but would not let my life be done. I couldn't stir myself into the mix of scribes and commons laying decent laws demanding that I shadow the shadow cast by some thin, mortal God. I've always been enchanted by the doomsday trim of lightness edged with Death’s esthetic claws and yet, new dawns decreed I stay and left me pinched in Life's stiff, rigid pause. I pined away in darkest corridors for He who could erase the curse of knowledge learned. My Alabaster Wraith, He sat with me while Life held me confined and counted out my every breath as if a promise that he'd wrest the soil back from my hollow bones and press my spirit back into the dust, so I might find some peace, in the unknown. I often pled for cruelest remedies that Life's more favored inmates feared because each torture treatment let me glimpse His lethal cowl and my demise. Mere breaths and heartbeats stood between my sickness and the cure for Life's oppression of my soul that lay too far on Death's frontier. I've never sought forked-ray lobotomies or sun-salts poured in night-stained eyes. I never yearned for freedom or the sun but revelled in the sweetest dreams that I would breech the human warehouse walls but not survive the birth, become a husk of inert flesh allowed to find asylum in the earth. Restraint within a man-made tomb of Life was all the Hell I ever feared and yet my mind was so incurable that by and by I was abandoned by the pious saints... until there rose a hero on the still walls of a midnight void of Death's sure faith; He came and he collected me my Alabaster Wraith. Stone testaments commomorate a Life I never lived or wanted to have lived, a number chains my bones in place where people forcefully preserved Life's longing for itself. My meatless parts communicate a warmth for living that I never felt but balms of death have healed my hate.