Nivenor

there are seven ways to die
without telling your mother—
july said that’s a holy number but
all i got was another
cause & effect poem:
honey it hurts to love the uprooted
tree so i became it—
honey the snake wasn’t sorry so
neither was i—
honey i’m tired of playing with you
& the knives so we both end up
with bellies full of cyanide—

Everything starts the same, empty and dark, hungering for everything, anything to escape the void. I have been small too, blind and crawling towards a comfort that would never come.
But I have never been weak.
So be afraid now, weep and despair in this moment for when I come for you it will be like lightning without thunder, and I leave to you only the aftermath, the destruction, the death. For I am the First and the Last, I am the light to guide you and the darkness that swallows all things. I will be terrible and bright, and when the light bleeds through your hiding place and the burning sun uncovers things that should not be seen still you will love me, you will bow and rejoice for when the bleeding world rests in my claws at least there will be nothing left, nothing but me to adore.