As a queen in my grave, I toss and I turn and I wish I were anywhere else. Can I not climb to heights unknown? Well, I may not do that if my dirt duvet continues to weigh me down! I must shed this suffocating skin if I wish to taste the stars.
Does Death pretend to those alive that she is among the living? No, she never bothered, never tried, for though she breathes and beats, her soul has withered inside. So, she poses no charade and goes about her business, and with every soul she guides to rest, she wants to be alone. How hollow her pursuits! If it were not for the strength of her wings, her heavy heart would not let her fly. Eternity is too long - she never wanted forever.
Like never in a moment, Death was a queen in her grave. But she was always still, her fingers wrapped around the blade. She'd already climbed to heights unknown, dwarfed the highest mountain - the warmest thing she'd ever felt was the weight of that dirt duvet. The ground was solid about her and she savored every taste. Who needs the stars? That open sky is but a waste.
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