Written by Jersey City based poet Bill Rood, using the song "Luxuria" as prompt.
There are different ways to kill yourself
and there are so many selves to kill.
We are the life we lived
and the one we didn't.
And the person we were.
And the person we wanted to be.
I've had time,
so much time to contemplate this.
You see, I was a woman who had no patience for this world
for the effort of rising to dawn's promise of a distant light.
What was my life worth
when singular devotion offered so much more?
But I knew nothing of this world
this frail fragile faulted world
this perfectly imperfect human world.
I died for faith in humanity's salvation
yet never allowed myself to be human.
I rushed to die for my savior
but never felt alive until I endured death.
And a martyrs tortured death is so much agony so little victory.
The pain was something I had never known.
My body, tangled in twisted muscles, screamed for it to end
bracing for an awful pain that came again and again
I was dying but so alive.
And I had so much patience for that pain.
When the pain climaxed in an awful silencing every sense died
Not a feeling ever again
No touch upon my skin
I only felt a brooding patient ache
For what might have been
And time, so much time
Such a Nothing I knew.
Until your voice.
A voice I thought at first was my own
speaking my own desire.
Was your prayer brought to me
or was my prayer answered by you?
I understand this less than you:
tonight somehow I am here
more you than me,
but this is birth and not a return
as I've never truly lived before.
I had such patience for my pain
until you called to me.
I savor only this moment
to take one sip
before I give in
to loose all my religion
in finding you finding me.
Darling, please, let me die again.
One more time.
But this time
I do not die for death,
I die for life.
I die this time for me.