“Where do we come from?”

I asked Death, his wings folded behind as he perched

On my soul

My fingers sent ripples through my body

The only thing I could feel

Then

I whispered about desperation, and was

Talking about myself

I realized that the sky

Was falling into my open mouth

Or maybe it was the other way around

Breathing was futile, either way

And I didn’t care much for the scent of frozen earth that day

I laughed and chased away the feelings that crept and dug their way into my eye sockets

My brain was a host for nothingness, when

The last time I tasted anything other than fresh ink, I cannot remember

But my pages were full and chocolate was too sweet then

The color of music turned dull grey

Or maybe it was always that way, I don’t care to remember

My lover’s lips left mine tens of thousands of years ago,

And they passed in a moment because time

Doesn’t care to make sense of itself

I laughed again and coughed up a memory

One of sadness and frost and emptiness

Or maybe it was just a mirror

So I had to ask.

“Where do I come from?”

Death spoke.

“The earth,” he said.

“The sky,” he said.

“Tears,” he said.

“The color green,” he said.

It made sense then.

“Mother Bone,” he said, “and she is what we shall return to.”