Seventeen Days

I am
A faint glow tarnishing and polluting the
 faithless vacuum
A faint glow to be extinguished and filled
 with a luxuriously inert peace.

Threads spawn, clone, fork, map, and
 stop, terminate, abort, and end.

Scorched Earth has buried the immobile corpses
and silently made them immortal.

It’s a chronic yearning for peace and tranquility,
one granted to you only by the silent stare of the abyss.
You could choose to walk into it.
Or let it slowly, gently flow dissipate through you,
Crossing your eyelids and engulfing you from your back.
Either way,
 you,
shall be happy and content
 for your agency has concluded,
I’ve dismantled your skeleton, piece by piece.

When the epistle of life ends
we will be cast into a faintly yellowed envelope,
one cherished and embellished with love.