The angel of death

A poem in honor of my best friend, who died last year. She pulled me from the deepest pit.

I see the angel of death again, but he patches me up, and sends me on my way.

He knows it's not my time yet, ad I can't make it come any sooner.

My angel of death is always watching.

He waits for me to slit my neck, and forces me to heal again.

I am a mortal, an endful being.

But the endless sysyphean task of trying to die leaves me broken and alone as I push everyone away, only for them to come crashing back unto me.

I make my life worse, so that it can stop being bad.

So it can stop.

But the angel of death doesn't care.

The angel of death waits for my time, and haunts me.

The whistle of death is something I long for.

But the cloister bells wont ring for me. Those drums of war remain silent as I wait, stuck in a padded hospital room, as the angel of death laughs.

The guard to my prison, and the one who will release me from it.

I know the moment I resolve to stay, he will take me from the home I've made this cell.