I am Death

I am Death. I go forth into the garden, after sickness.

I am Destitution. I go to the job centre, after I wake up.

I am Debt. I am student loans and mortgages and bills and bills and bills, best thought about after a drink or two.

I am Disgust. I lope around Downing Street, after buying a gas mask.

I am Deceit. I persist, even when you know the truth.

I am Damnation. I wax seal envelopes after finding your address on the internet.

I am Darkness, realised by absence; I know that you're after somewhere to hide.

I am Descent. I peek over the edge, after gritting my teeth in determination.

I am Defamation. I never jump, even after taking pleasure from the worried faces.

I am Decline. Vigour is mine to lose after my muscles turn to dust.

I am Despair. I am the sensible reaction, after finding out that the spice of life is just… cinnamon.

I am Desire. I return to myself, after the end of the world.

I am Dance. I am still hanging about, drinking what's left of your drink, long after everyone has left.

I am Delirium. I ache for flavour and release. Give me one more piece of your skin. After that, I promise, it'll be over.

I am Destruction. I am running after a solution.

I am Detritus. I drop bits of myself around your living room, after we make love.

I am Depravity. I go about my day, after learning how many people died crossing the Aegean sea last night, after scrolling thru righteous memes, after turning away from grief, after denial.

I am Despondency. I drift back and forth after deciding there is no direction worth heading for.

I am Destiny. I wipe away my tears after you advise me, well that’s just life isn’t it.

I am Dream.

I am Death. I go forth into the garden, and I take up gardening.

And I whisper, to my brother:

I prune

your

roses.