Death flirts, Yet You are The only One to Bring me Back to Life
{"My burial was about to commence, become a happening. My spirit was a necropolis already, everlasting. So what significance did it take for me to give it all up?
My soul to be extracted from my body and heightened, sore up to the horizons, ambiance like the shooting stars we would sit below; as young as we were, they would glide from the hues of our pupils, dilating at the magnificence.
Deceased people I have come to spectate, were glimpsed from their caskets, attired eternally flawlessly from top to bottom, their eyes were latched, but I comprehended they weren’t once. You cannot shut your eyes as death flirts with you, it is against the law of human temperament, its fangs would adhere to your helpless body as it seizes your life away from your possession.
We aren’t as in power as we initially thought or assumed we were.
I saw the gaping horror in their manifestations as they perished, wasn’t pleasant at all. They had called upon something terrifying, an anomaly in tranquility, but they couldn’t seize it back, their vitalities, they couldn’t quarrel for it.
I could frankly lay dead. And I conversed with you, with all the devotion and passion I thought had once evaporated, spurring within me.
My saunters are more magnified than radiation. I count my steps and I desire to live;
I don’t wish to be in that coffin, I don’t yearn for my soul to be carnage and extracted from my body, the rope that enveloped my throat, tied to the ceiling of Harlem, I got off of the chair with the introspection of you.
My gut wrenched,
I yearned to live, I dreamed of living; the pain wouldn’t suffice if I were to die; after witnessing those dilated pupils, those pale and dull, lifeless skins underneath the scorching bright white light, their flesh and bones becoming better and better distinguished; coldness surrounding them instead of fervency.
And crazily, you drove me to put a halt in my shiftings, the rope still dangles and hung from the canopy teasingly, flirtatious.
The windows drew a puff of the air that slaughtered through the curtain. Whiplashing like I, against the brick walls, the whiplash that brought me alive; if thy resurrection was a blissful experience, my life was intact; until the very end.
And as the day ends, the sunset makes us blissfully aware that we are indeed alive.
We end with it. And you are the only one to bring me back to life, and you push me to feel alive."}
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Dilara Aydin
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