Death, when I choose you.
I do not choose you lightly.
I know you like pale, sagging skin & still, lifeless pupils.
I know you like limp arms after the hurricane of the last days.
Caught up in mania and psychosis and lucid hallucinations.
Like screaming through the night and dehydration and sleepwalking.
Anything, so we do not feel the pain that ties us to this world.
I know you because no matter the terrain, there was a time I chased after you until my feet bled.
You are the biblical revelation that turned me into a cautionary tale.
I don’t know why, but I’m tired.
I will leave no notes behind explaining why I chose you.
Ours, is an intimate conversation rivalled only by the angels who took me under their wings.
I know you like silence.
And long nights that took my peace with them, only to replace it with an angst only the morning sun and the sound of chirping birds could erase.
I know you like rage.
I’ve been told that I’m a talented writer.
So please, when they ask why and resort to calling me selfish.
Write something nice.
Write something beautiful about our darkness.
Write about our eternal dance.
Write about why I chose you.
Olivia Pula has been writing since she was 12. She was born and bred in Rustenburg & holds a certificate in Poetry.