It's Still Life

Walk Away Now

And he said to her, “Death is quite romantic”…
Walk away, she told herself. Now. Just walk away.

They stood at the edge of the marsh, and she said, “Death is not romantic. It’s not effortless. It’s not a child who takes you by the hand. It’s not going softly into the night.” And she pointed, “There, sink your feet into it. Mud. Exiles of clay. Seep back into bareness. Back from where you once came. Back into a primordial slick. Feel its iciness cling. Forever. Rejoin your brothel of shadows, you who’s so enamoured with death. Romance a dynasty of bones stripped bare as winter’s birch.”

And then she turned and walked away without another word. A person like that was not good for her. Walk away. Now. Just walk away.

Prosery for dVerse poets. Include the phrase “To her, death is quite romantic”. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter. Image is mine: Digital Art using AI.