We were all humans, running around, working, sweating, chasing immortality.
Some sought immortality through their children, some through their wealth, and some through fame.
But someРsome individuals, afraid and scared of experiencing immortality alone, sought other means; Afraid, they needed more.
This fear, this weak side of theirs, lead them to create others; Immortals, just like them. So they wouldn’t have to experience eternity alone.
Keats turned Isabella Jones into an eternal butterfly, and into one, he too transformed.
Plath met Hughes, made him immortal, then she flew away. Hughes, out of love and loneliness, gave life to her, again.
Bukowski did it with Linda, even though, at times he couldn’t stand her sight. But being afraid, he had to! He made her! He gave up!
Poe, let her go. He turned his Virginia into Lenore, so the Gates would open, and accept her; Forevermore!
There were many others… there were many more.
And here I am, weak and afraid, just as them.
Spending my time counting days, waiting for the day when I’ll leave, waiting for the day until you leave, in eternity (there, I’ll take you again)


2 thoughts on “Weakling’S

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