Everything dies,
Even you.
But he knew
he only had to touch
one, anyone, to send it
away. To make it
die.
It's what he did
as though it couldn't
be helped.
It was written
in his DNA.
Twisted lines of
data, always
twisting more, the more
he cared.
The world burns,
Hate. Anger.
Grief.
His own light
is growing dim.
He longs for
release but
too stubborn to
recognize when
it's time to say goodbye.
So it twists
and in its twisting
wishes for a
better place
to be.
Meanwhile
There is sleep.
~ September 17, 2020
